


cataclysmic variable star

by stardustupinlights



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Fujiki Yuusaku, Unresolved Romantic Tension, not much focus on it though but it does come up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustupinlights/pseuds/stardustupinlights
Summary: "Ryoken lived with the one choice he’s made that felt right for ten months in a separate facility from his lieutenants. They were sent to high level, maximum security prisons, and he’s almost insulted he wasn’t thrown in with them. They also gave the authorities the name of every single member of the Knights of Hanoi, of course, which meant that Ryoken had more than a few unfortunate encounters with former followers, but the point is that he dealt with it and came out in one piece. He didn’t want to get out at all, but at the very least he was supposedly judge fairly.He likes to think that even if things had turned out differently he would have turned himself in anyways, in the far future.And now he’s back in Den City, in the same house he grew up in, and he feels lost."In which Ryoken has a change of heart after the Tower of Hanoi falls and calls the police (again).





	1. reboot

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have been writing this thing for a few months now and VRAINS beat me to the concept as proven by the last few eps, but seeing as this is very, very canon divergent I thought I should still work on it and show it to anyone that might be interested in it! Is this realistic? I tried for sure, but since I'm not an expert in law, and much less japanese law, there would have probably been mistakes no matter how I tried to put it.
> 
> This is meant to be pretty Ryoken centrict, since I want to really get deep inside the mess that his life is. This, however, will have a few short time skips, as important things develop. I don't expect each chapter to be too long but... we'll see. This is, as always, very self indulgent. 
> 
> But anyways, enough rambling. Thanks to Celepom for the title ideas, please check out her amazing art, and I hope you all enjoy!

Ryoken finds himself feeling an unbelievable amount of fury from the second he got his sentence.

He decided that day, without much consideration for what it actually meant for him, that the law system is bullshit, the jury is bullshit, and the media, as always, is full of it to the brim. He got ten months of jail time. _Ten months._ The original sentence was a bit better, two exact years, but then three months were reduced thanks to the judge deciding to take into account the time he spent awaiting for trial because of the huge investigation that took place once he handed himself over and the interrogations started— and there were two more reductions after that.

He felt cheated, really. He was expecting, at least, life in prison, and was always open to far crueler sentences, because they did try to destroy the network and almost took an incredible amount of people down with them in the process. He knew from the very beginning that most of his crimes wouldn’t be judged since most of them happened when he was under the age of eighteen, but he was still an accomplice to the Tower of Hanoi and illegally hacked and modified who knows how many databases, including those belonging to SOL Technologies, to his liking. Not the mention the use of the Another virus, of course.

He hired lawyers simply because he needed them to help him convince the jury that he wasn’t lying about his father’s involvement so SOL would get burned with him, but doing that pretty much guaranteed that Ryoken’s list of crimes wasn’t as large as he had hoped, and his sentence far more simply than he expected.

What does he have to do to be properly judged for his crimes? Participate in yet another terrorist attack? Ryoken was supposed to spent the rest of his life rotting in jail; instead he got a sentence that got systematically reduced because of his good behavior and _‘service to the inside community’_ , a.k.a, helping fellow prisoners have job prospects by teaching them to code, reorganizing the library system, and helping out with any manual labor to get the load off the eldest prisoners back. In his defense, there was literally nothing else to do, and he had to keep himself busy somehow.

Eventually, Ryoken stopped receiving notices about his sentence reductions, because every single time he tried to call his lawyers to get them to change their mind. Everyone in the prison thought it was hilarious, but Ryoken really didn’t appreciate this mockery. It is around February that he gets taken back to court to discuss what he believes to be his relocation and instead is his parole conditions. The judge all but laughed in his face, in a somewhat friendly manner, when Ryoken realized what was going on and tried to change their minds by speaking up about them letting a cyber-terrorist assimilate back into society.

“I’ll be honest, kid: It would be a waste of resources to keep you locked up. I think you’re smart enough to understand why this is happening, if the stuff in your file is true. Don’t look at a gifted horse in the mouth,” the judge had said, and Ryoken glared at him, but no matter what he did the decision was made. He remained a ball of anger all through the discussion and then all the way back home after the two weeks he spent back in his cell as everything was processed.

His parole officer thought his anger was funny too, and tried to talk him up all the way back to Den City and then up Stardust Road. “Cheer up, Kogami-kun. You’re too young to be this angry at anything, especially a sentence reduction.”

Ryoken would have hit him in the face, and perhaps he should have so they would take back the two years of house arrest thing and locked him back up, but he just couldn’t find it in him to do it. Also, he was handcuffed, so that would have only resulted in a mess and maybe a car accident. The other officers traveling with him kept glancing at him and snickering like little kids and Ryoken had never been that disgusted with the simplicity of other people's reality in his life.

What’s funny about a cyber-terrorist being let out of jail? Nothing. There’s nothing to be jovial about, this is ridiculous. He feels, very ironically, like he’s been done an injustice. His lawyers just looked at each other and shook their head when Ryoken told them this.

He should have fired them.

His time in jail was mostly uneventful. He was not harassed even if there were a few uncomfortable wolf whistles, and Spectre’s letters were both encouraging and his only reliable, semi-guilt-free source of enjoyment. Ryoken didn’t get to see or know much about his trial, since Spectre wasn’t considered a high priority suspect because of his status as a minor and his past a Lost Incident victim, but apparently he was deemed not suited for a traditional court case because of his psychological exams and got sent to a recovery facility, set to stay there until he was diagnosed as competent enough to be a part of society and stand trial. He also got one year of community service, which was exceptionally high considering Ryoken got two years of that plus his house arrest. It seems that wrecking people at card games is becoming a real issue for the law.

Spectre was only locked up for six months in comparison to Ryoken’s ten, most of which was spent awaiting trial in a clinic, so when he arrives back at the mansion everything is up and running— or well, it _would be_ if all pieces of tech that hadn’t been removed from his home for the length of his house arrest. Spectre was barely allowed his own phone because he was not, in fact, sharing that house arrest with him, and even that was being traced. The only reason he was even allowed to stay with his was his status as emancipated; Spectre’s issues were about his perception on people and how he interacted with them, not about his ability to take care of himself, so he went back to the mansion without any problem and under the promise of attending therapy every week.

SOL was still up and running, trying to fix their stocks and reputation. At least this time they could say goodbye to new international projects separate from Link VRAINS for the next few years, thanks to the media’s coverage of it. It was the only vendetta Ryoken was allowed, thought it was good to know they would be paying reparations to the Hanoi Project victims for several years to come.

The media, unfortunately, wasn't helpful, but rather just another stone inside Ryoken’s shoes. When he was first arrested he was glad to notice he was being painted as the criminal he is, but as soon as the investigations into the Knights of Hanoi and as a side effect into SOL Technologies, opinions on Revolver shifted until they started to treat him as another victim of his father’s actions. Recordings of his Speed Duel with Playmaker before the fall of the Tower of Hanoi went viral, and eventually used as proof by his lawyers that Kogami Kiyoshi was not dead and directing things from the background, which was a huge hit for SOL— it made Ryoken’s and his father’s assistants testimony on what happened after the Lost Incident was over helpful in court, so SOL would actually see some lost from the case. No one could actually _prove_ SOL killed his father, but at the very least there was plenty of evidence about his time working with them as a prisoner to create the Data Material.

The trials were mostly a shit show and heavily covered by the media… as much as it was allowed. The hearing that took place the day the Lost Incident victims were set to justify against SOL Technologies was not open to the public to protect their identities, not that all of them appeared— Kusanagi Jin was pretty much living proof of the incident, one of them was gone, and all the others said pretty much the same things on their testimony: they were taken from a public place and locked up for six months in which they were obligated to duel and win or risk starvation and torture.

One of the hearings of Ryoken’s long ass trial was also not televised. His lawyers conducted interviews on each of the victims and their families to determine whether their testimony would be helpful and in the end it was only Fujiki Yusaku who was allowed to take the stand, because he was the only one that was directly connected to Ryoken during that time.

Ryoken pretended he didn’t hear a thing that came out of his mouth. The thought of Playmaker risking having people look into every single detail of his life just to help him made him nauseous on a good day and bitterly angry with himself on a bad one. The fact that he pushed and cooperated with his lawyers to make it happen only added insult to injury, but his testimony and those of his lieutenants were probably the ones that most impacted the final decision. Hearing his lieutenants tear at his father and pointing fingers without reserve was hard, but it was probably harder to hear the sheer honesty and intensity of Playmaker’s statement. He’s glad that particular hearing wasn’t aired; he’s sure his face must have told a thousand words.

Playmaker also testified against Aso as a witness to that one time he kidnapped his classmate without Ryoken’s knowledge. Well, he couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting it; as much as he wanted to help _him,_ Playmaker also wanted the people responsible behind bars, and he wasn’t going to condemn that wish. He does wish he would accept he’s as guilty as the others, but he has to digress— it’s not like they’re talking to each other, after all, despite Playmaker's continuous attempts to do so. It’s Ryoken’s fault that he didn’t get to barge in through the prison’s front door and demanded to see him at least once every week or so, because he rejected all visitors, even Spectre.

But he knows by the letter he got the day after that first rejection that Playmaker didn’t take it that well. That one was bitter and angry, written in a messy scrawl, awkwardly folded and full of honesty and emotion he couldn’t have expected from him, even after their duel. Ryoken keeps the letter under his pillow and reads it every time he needs to remember what he was and who he wants to be, and how he’s neither of those people right now.

He was so tired of hurting people. He had been for years and he still is now. Ryoken’s made so many questionable decisions over the course of his short eighteen years and most of them have resulted on people getting hurt while he stood to the side and lost everything he cared about. Sacrifice, sacrifice, _sacrifice_. His father taught him that was always worth it but he found the aftermath of his brilliant plan that involved sacrificing millions of people dull and bittersweet. It was supposed to end, he was supposed to be a part of all those lives cut short but instead Ryoken defended his father’s will to the end of that beautifully devastating duel and gave up.

His father was no martyr or savior. That thought rang clear as bells in his mind as the Tower of Hanoi fell and he stared at his corpse, swallowing the bile that wanting to rise up his throat. Martyrs don’t require the sacrifice of others and they don’t beg their children to die with them. They are not proved wrong in their convictions by anyone or anything.

He doesn’t know exactly why he did it, if he was being completely honest. He knows one second he was standing atop the Tower of Hanoi, Playmaker delivering the final blow and trying to reach out to him with nothing but his voice and a great deal of hope, the other he was calling a number he was told to avoid ever since he was a child… for a second time.

At that moment, Ryoken wondered if he would ever have the chance to disobey that lesson a third time. He would likely have all his choices taken away from him for a long time to come, and something about that thought is comforting— if he’s not making a decision, then he’s not making a mistake.

Ryoken loves his father. He really does. But there are other ways of protecting the world that don’t involve killing the people living in it and Playmaker is… he’s had a point all along.

Ryoken found the simulations his father ran on the Ignis literal hours before the Tower of Hanoi started it’s ascent, all of them incomplete, inconclusive and confusing, feeling almost like lies, like all his father has done over the last ten years has been based off erroneous, worthless results. He ignored them, of course, because he trusted his father’s words, but they lingered in the back of his mind even as he defeated Ghost Girl and Onizuka, as he allowed Playmaker to challenge him to a duel, as he watched the heart rate monitor go down to zero and stay there.

Perhaps if he hasn't locked eyes with Yusaku during his last visit to Café Nagi, none of this would have happened; Ryoken would have been victorious and everything including Playmaker would have ceased to exist and he would be free to forever dream of flower fields and never wake up.

But Playmaker’s gaze has always been treacherous, in and out of the anonymous safety of Link VRAINS, a weakness he couldn’t get rid of, and his obsession with him only made it harder to look away. There was something magnetic about them, innocent and unsuspecting of a stranger that regularly buys from his friend's business, something that broke Ryoken on the inside without him even realizing it until he was obsessively going through the files on their quarters to find any piece of information that might work to save _him_ at least, to give him a chance at life, even if the rest of them were doomed to be assimilated into the Tower.

He found the simulations instead, and his mind spiraled down into chaos from there because his logical brain told him those were wrong, wrong, so fucking _wrong_ in so many levels— but the rest of him screamed that his father _couldn’t_ possibly have made a mistake just to make Ryoken follow him through them, through more and more of them, one piling up over the other until he was being used as a puppet, a figure to hide his own wrongdoings behind.

So instead of swearing to come back stronger and more balanced than ever and running away on his yacht like his backup plan was meant to go, Ryoken calls the police for the second time in his life, decides to do what most would qualify as the right thing and practically orders, almost downright begs for Playmaker and Kusanagi Shoichi to leave before the police got there and took him in.

(And, unsurprisingly so, they didn't. Ryoken got a glimpse of the hotdog truck and blue hair as he was being aggressively pushed into the police car, and it only twisted the knife deeper in his heart with worry and fear. Several of the officers had been confused about an eighteen year old leading a cyber-terrorist operation, but his father’s body made it clear something was wrong. That was their first alarm bell, and Spectre waking up was their second.)

Calling the police was both ridiculously easy and the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life— no, wait.

Seeing Playmaker have an argument with Kusanagi Shoichi after announcing he was calling the police over whether or not he should hand himself over was probably harder. Or maybe seeing the horror reflected on those eyes, so green, so full of shock and disbelief and pain as cold realization of what Ryoken planned to do settled over them was harder; he gave him all he wanted just to take it away, and in that moment Ryoken could not bring himself to be anything other than deeply ashamed about it.

Telling them to run away wasn’t just an unnecessary low point caused by his weakness. He couldn’t let Playmaker have his cover blown like that. Playmaker was to stay as a Link VRAINS legend, and Playmaker would never have to deal with the judgment that came with being scrutinized by the public eye like he did after he handed himself over. He didn't deserve that, in top of everything else.

Ryoken lived with the one choice he’s made that felt right for ten months in a separate facility from his lieutenants. They were sent to high level, maximum security prisons, and he’s almost insulted he wasn’t thrown in with them. They also gave the authorities the name of every single member of the Knights of Hanoi, of course, which meant that Ryoken had more than a few unfortunate encounters with former followers, but the point is that he dealt with it and came out in one piece. He didn’t want to get out at all, but at the very least he was supposedly judge fairly.

He likes to think that even if things had turned out differently he would have turned himself in anyways, in the far future.

And now he’s back in Den City, in the same house he grew up in, and he feels lost.

“It could be worse,” Spectre tells him over dinner, once Ryoken has been read his parole conditions again and has been explained how his schedule is going to work in relation to therapy and community service. It’s extremely odd to be having dinner with him after so long, and he tries not to frown too much at how uncanny it is to hear him be a bit more calm, a bit less… hopelessly devoted. They need to talk about how they have changed over the last few months, but Ryoken isn’t sure _how_ to approach that subject. He’s afraid it won’t be welcomed. “We could have been separated, and then we would both be bored by ourselves.”

Ryoken frowns, and disappoints himself for it. “Like you were?”

Spectre shoots him a pointed look and Ryoken decides to shut up.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do to entertain yourself?” Spectre continues, and Ryoken stares at his food with no small amount of dread. The next two years are going to be long and he has no idea how he’s even going to start without access to technology. Not even the fridge was safe, which is translation for _‘we’re not letting you hack shit ever again.’_ A fair decision, really; barely a few hours into house arrest and Ryoken is already bored out of his mind, so who knows what he could have done with access to hacking software. Probably troll SOL as revenge for still getting away from being dismantled as a company by just throwing money at the Lost Incident victims.

The silence drags on safe for the sounds of them eating and eventually, is interrupted by Spectre sighing. Ryoken can’t bring himself to look at him for too long, for some reason. “Ryoken-sama, you need to get over it.”

“And what’s ‘it’?” Ryoken asks, frowning again and finally meeting his gaze. There’s nothing dramatically different about Spectre after so much time; he’s a bit taller and his face looks a bit more angular, his age starting to catch up to him, but it just feels odd to be here.

“Your denial of the fact that you’re not responsible for the things that happened last year,” Spectre shrugs, his voice casual as if the situation is normal and his words obvious. Ryoken can’t help feeling slightly frustrated at it, but instead of lashing out and trying to shut down his ideas, Ryoken waits. Spectre smiles, smug as always, at his restraint. He wouldn’t have done so a year ago. “Your father was the one that led the Hanoi Project and he was the one that created the Knights and he was the one that activated the Tower. We have known this since the beginning, but you’re acting as such the fact that he’s gone means you have to inherit his mistakes as well.”

Ryoken makes a noise that he knows sounds a bit distressed, but he can’t help himself. “I know, but being back here…”

“It feels more real,” Spectre finishes for him, nodding. He’s already done with his meal, but he stays at the table, clearly invested in the conversation. Ryoken sighs, rubbing his eyes with his fingers as if this were all an elaborate dream. He’s talked about this with his therapist so many times he can almost play a bingo out of it, and yet the words still catch him unaware every time, something inside him still recoiling at the thought. “I mean it when I say you should find a hobby. I got school and homework and some access to the internet, as well as the garden, but you don’t really have that at all.”

Ryoken barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes at the obvious. “What do you suggest?”

“We do have a music room that’s been gathering dust for more than a few years,” his tone is perfectly nonchalant, but the way he raises an eyebrow and looks at him pointedly does make a grin threaten its way to his lips. “Or you could join me in the garden. It’s a mess, after all. Your father was really picky about the changes we could have done to this house years ago.”

“It’s too white,” Ryoken agrees, thinking about how many empty rooms full of dust there is, about how they need to properly sort out the furniture to see if it’s still in a useable state after so much time locked behind key and hidden under sheets. He mainly thinks about how it’ll take years before Spectre can truly turn the garden into what it could be, and it gives him an idea that he knows he will regret as soon as he speaks it out loud. “Would you… like to rebuild the garden? It’s mostly foil, grass and trees right now. We could make a path—”

“Get some proper flowers, maybe a patio,” Spectre’s eyes gleam, nodding at the words as if he’s already picturing it. Ryoken at least feels good about his excitement, but he’s hoping this won’t dramatically distract him from school. “This might be your best idea to date.”

Ryoken, despite the fact that he’s still a bit angry at his release, snorts. “You may be right about that.”

Spectre’s smirk is quite devious, which isn’t something he appreciates. “Finish up your meal, Ryoken. You have a long day ahead tomorrow.”

He does, actually. He’s meeting Onizuka at the orphanage he volunteers at for his first day of community service. That’s bound to be a fun experience; he hopes he isn’t salty about their duel, but Ryoken is fully expecting to withstand hell on earth tomorrow. There’s also the fact that he’ll be working mainly as a nurse for the children, which is fine, except Ryoken isn’t sure he isn’t going to be immediately pointed at with little fingers and screams and maybe get bitten. He’s definitively preparing for the worse.

He tries not to think too hard of the possibility of making a mistake. He knows how likely that is because he’s been making them ever since he was a child, but the thought plagues him and makes him have a restless sleep. He spends most of the night tossing and turning, and by the time morning comes around he’s honestly exhausted and holding on to the coffee cup Spectre puts in his hands like a lifeline; it’s not even black coffee, because Ryoken prefers it creamy and tooth-rottenly sweet, and he almost feels like crying because it’s been so long since he’s had a proper coffee cup.

“Cheer up,” Spectre tells him, smiling like Ryoken is capable of appreciating it right now. He’s wearing his uniform, and the sight is not quite uncanny, but only because he’s so used to him wearing suit jackets. “You’re only going to deal with children. Nothing new, considering our former usual company.”

Ryoken frowns at him. “The people around us during all those years were not children. They cared.”

“No,” Spectre shrugs, agreeing. “But they sure tried to act like they were, hm? Children care too, Ryoken-sama.”

 _Fuck_ , Ryoken thinks, staring at him and trying to mask some degree of shock, _he’s changed_. Ryoken doubts Spectre regrets the Hanoi Project in any way, otherwise he wouldn’t be here, but it’s clear that the way he looked at things has shifted. Before, he didn’t care or think much about the other Knights of Hanoi; he only cared about Ryoken because he’s the one that searched him out to take him in and never really expressed much of an opinion or feeling on them besides quiet comradeship. He didn’t look up them, but he also never _criticized_ them.

It hits him how different things are going to be from now on— and how scared he is of that.


	2. prey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It me! Updating! Check out Celepom because without her? Your eyes would suffer as much as mine. Also her art is amazing. Enjoy this big piece of baby fluff.

Ryoken is barely ten minutes into his community service and he’s already lost, confused, and a little scared. The car ride was probably the most awkward thing that he has ever been involved in, right after that time when he made eye contact with Fujiki Yusaku in court for ten solid seconds and then pretended he wasn’t there. Asshole move, but necessary.

Onizuka is a very tall, extremely bulky individual. Ryoken worked out a lot in jail for a lack of better things to do and he’s always taken care of his physical health as best as he could. So he’s not a noodle, but he doubts there are many people in Den City that could or would want to reach the level of muscle Onizuka has. He’s not intimidated by him, but the way he glares at Ryoken makes him feel like his handcuffs are not going to help him if Onizuka decides to say fuck it and punch his teeth out.

It’s easy to guess he’s still upset over their duel. Ryoken can understand that, and he tries not to let it damper his mood even further for the sake of not arriving at the orphanage looking like he’s heading for the guillotine instead. Judging by the way his parole officer, Nakamura-san, a balding man that looks strong but is short of stature, shoots him a pointed look and gestures at his own face and then to Ryoken’s with a wince, he’s not doing a good job at it.

Then they actually get to the orphanage, Ryoken is told at what time he’s going to be picked up in the afternoon, an officer is left at the door to watch him, and his ankle monitor gets double checked before they take the handcuffs off him. Onizuka crosses his arms through the event and tries to act like he’s not dying to share a piece of his mind, making Ryoken think that perhaps going to jail was not worth it at all if it meant every single interaction with any human being was going to be this awkward from now on.

Onizuka does have reasons to hate him, but then again, everyone that uses the internet or Link VRAINS does as well. He can imagine the forums quite clearly.

On the outside, the building is unsuspecting and almost, _almost_ an eye sore. The front garden is well taken care of, there’s a small playground with one set of swings and small slides; the place looks big enough to contain an army of children, which doesn’t really make him feel any better. The only child he’s ever interacted with is Spectre – and Fujiki Yusaku, to a limited degree – so he has no idea whatsoever what to expect. None of his father’s assistants had children. He was home schooled. Spectre always said other kids sucked.

He barely knows what babies look like and what their basics functions are. All his knowledge on children is limited to his medical research. He’s going to be eaten _alive._

The orphanage owner greets him at the door, a smile on her lips. She’s tall, almost as much as he is, her dark hair held up by a simple ponytail and her eyes are a faded grey, but she looks young overall, no greys on her head at all. Ryoken tries really hard to remain neutral, but then she steps towards him and bows, which almost makes him sputter in shock.

“Thank you for choosing this place, Kogami-kun!” She says, sounding as sincere as any human being could be, so Ryoken decides to keep to himself the fact that he chose the orphanage only because his therapist practically demanded he did so. There’s also less chances of getting stabbed at an orphanage, but he doubts she would be insulted if she knew. “I’m Suzuki Inko, orphanage owner and resident nurse, as well as the lead caretaker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 _Oh no,_ Ryoken thinks, nodding and clearing his throat, _she’s being nice._

“It’s a pleasure to help,” he manages to choke out, and catches Onizuka scoffing out of the corner of his eye. On second thought, perhaps his chances of not getting stabbed weren’t as high as he thought.

“Come on in, please. I’ll help you get ready and then the three of us can have a talk about your role here, alright?” She turns towards Onizuka right after he nods, her smile becoming even brighter. “Thank you so much for helping us again, Go. I’m sure Kogami-kun will appreciate any guidance you can give him.”

Ryoken exchanges a look with him and decides to not point out Onizuka has not said a word to him during the whole trip here, making him wonder what the point of him being here even is.

The officer that’s going to stay to keep an eye on Ryoken opens the door for them to go in, and Ryoken removes his shoes at the entrance so he can follow Suzuki-san through the building. The walls are painted with light colors everywhere he looks, the doors windowed and child-proofed, and the space as airy as possible, the floor carpeted. There is a reception that looks more like a living room right when you step in, with colorful furniture and a TV on the far wall to the left, the hallway leading into the rest of the building being right in front of them. Suzuki-san stops to exchange a few words with the girl sitting at the desk at the right side of the room, who sneaks curious glances at him and smiles at Onizuka

They walk through the hallway into two office spaces and a break room separated only by half-walls, and then the building completely sections off through a door to the rest of it, with several hallways that each seem to lead to different rooms with different functions. He recognizes an impressively big kitchen, a library, several bedrooms and small playrooms that he assumes are for the youngest children, and hopes the doors _without_ windows are the bathrooms. There’s a huge dining room with double doors and several long tables, then a couple classrooms. He hears the noises of children talking as he passes some bedrooms, probably getting ready for breakfast, and it immediately makes him want to run away. He’s not ready for this at all.

But then they go into another, quieter hallway and Suzuki-san opens the third door to her right.

“This is our infirmary, Kogami-kun. I’ll give you a proper run down of the place later, but for now I’d like to have a talk with you about your experience. You’ll notice soon that our nurseries are in this section of the building as well and far away from the garden, so it’ll be quiet enough for us to chat,” Suzuki-san gestures towards the inside of the room as she talks, and then to the hallway they just left, only to then guide him to sit on the other side of a desk covered with… folders. A lot of folders, with different names on every single one. Suzuki-san notices him staring and smiles, a bit sheepishly. “Don’t worry about that right now, yeah? Just sit and I’ll explain everything.”

Ryoken tries really hard not to feel intimidated by her kindness. The walls of the infirmary are baby blue and decorated with paintings of sheep, and the color brings out Suzuki-san’s eyes, making them look like they’re a washed-out blue instead of grey.

“Onizuka won’t be joining us?” Ryoken asks with some hesitation, not hiding the way he’s sneaking looks at the files, because physical copies of anything is something rare to come by in this day and age. Suzuki-san is trying to clean up the desk a bit, piling folders on top of folders, and the way she shoots him a little smile lets him know she’s paying attention to him. He clears his throat, trying not to be too awkward. “I assumed he would, since he seems to almost be staff, and he did volunteer to… keep an eye on me.”

“Go is certainly a dedicated volunteer, but his work has come first lately,” Suzuki-san’s smile becomes a bit tense around the edges, but in no way does it hinder her cheerful mood. Ryoken can only blink in quiet curiosity at the words, but he’s otherwise unresponsive. “He’s agreed to keep an eye on you to help the officers know exactly what you’re doing in the building, and we thought his presence would help the kids warm up to you faster.”

“Is that why you need more volunteers?” Ryoken can’t help asking, his mind working to figure out why exactly this makes him so nervous. He has a gut feeling that there must be something else to it, but he can’t really put his finger on what that might be. “I must say, though, I wouldn’t be my first choice.”

Suzuki-san seems to try really hard not to wince. “We get a lot of volunteers here in decent amounts every week, but it’s not quite enough for an orphanage of this size. So when someone like Go, who is usually so dedicated, stops coming by… his absence is glaring. As for you…”

She drifts off, turning away from him briefly to look for something in one of the desk’s drawers, pulling out yet another folder. Ryoken swears he’s never seen this much paper together in one place in his life.

“As you know, it was your therapist who suggested you do community service in a positive, non-overwhelming environment. Your parole officer agreed and even insisted, so I was sent your file to consider whether we wanted you here or not,” Suzuki-san pushes the folder towards him, and Ryoken hesitates before taking it, but he doesn’t open it. She doesn’t seem surprised or weirded-out by this, but a shrug from him makes her continue. “I liked what I looked at— well, most of it, at least, and there aren’t any details beyond what the police thought I should know. But no one is perfect.”

“You are aware I’m a criminal, right?” Ryoken feels the need to squirm in his seat, not really liking how close her words are to praise, in a really backhanded way. “I only agreed to this place because my therapist told me to. I don’t really have experience with children… at all.”

Suzuki-san nods, but points at his file. “But you have quite some interesting skills, and you’re only nineteen. We get ex-convicts volunteering here all the time, Kogami-kun. You wouldn’t be standing out here at all, unless you actively tried to.”

Well… he can’t argue against that.

“It is true that we need all the help we can get here, especially when it comes to getting and maintaining all the children in good health,” Suzuki-san gestures to the files in the desk, and the room they’re in. Ryoken has a sinking feeling, all of the sudden, about the kind of work he’ll be doing here. “Nurses, doctors, any sort of medical assistant or licensed individual, they all volunteer here on a regular basis, especially those that are retired or on vacation. But I’m the only _resident_ nurse, and while most of the staff here knows how to treat a fever or a headache, or how to avoid allergy attacks, it can get overwhelming when you’re the only professional and you have to make sure that no one makes a wrong choice.”

“Why not hire more personnel? If you get volunteers that have experience and that are even retired, then why not hire them?” Ryoken blurts it out, not thinking much about any possible consequences from questioning the administrative decisions of his boss. He’s not scared of that, but he’s been feeling apprehension ever since he woke up and it’s starting to grate on his patience. By now, he just wants to get it over with, instead of having conversations that make him wonder, once again, why he couldn’t simply go through his whole sentence instead of constantly getting it cut. “It seems more logical than deciding to take on someone who has to do mandated community service.”

“People have lives, Kogami-kun. Not every retiree wishes to go back to work, even if it’s for a good cause. We are currently interviewing, of course— but you will make a good assistant while we go through the process, and even after we can always use more help.”

Ryoken blinks at her and then looks down at his file, wondering what’s in there. He knows delicate details are probably left out of this particular copy, because they wouldn’t have handed that over to an orphanage owner, but he’s curious about how the court decided to describe his particular set of skills. He can’t imagine anything other than ‘hacker’ in it, though he knows they probably took into account literally everything he’s been capable of ever since he was a kid, independent of whether there’s any record of it or not. He answered so many questions during his interrogations, again and again and again for the sake of working out a proper confession and the best deals possible with the authorities. He probably shouldn’t have been so cooperative; maybe then he would still be in jail.

Whatever’s in there, though— it’s apparently enough to not end up just picking up trash instead of doing some more particular work. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, but that’s another thing to talk about with his therapist.

With a sigh, Ryoken nods at Suzuki-san, dropping his file on top of the desk. “Where do I begin, then?”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Ryoken is wearing pink nurse scrubs with little bunnies scattered around the shirt he hand-picked himself and trying to understand the organization system in the supply closet. Suzuki-san told him he would be mostly working in the infirmary and tasked him to reorganize the inventory while she watched over breakfast, but she warned him his position would change according to the immediate needs of the orphanage. If no one’s sick, then Ryoken has to follow her around to help her.

He wouldn’t say this closet is a mess, but finding something most definitely depends on luck in what he estimates is fifty-percent of the time, simply because its very well stocked but otherwise things are where they are left where they land. It’s an easy, relaxing task, that doesn’t take him more than an hour, and it helps him wind down from some of the tension he’s been carrying all day.

He’s alone, which is something he wasn’t expecting, but at least like this no one can see or hear him mumble to himself while he organizes, trying to get his ideas straight to create a system that will be simple but functional. He was given a clipboard with the inventory, which he still can’t believe is on paper. Suzuki-san knows about him being forbidden from technology, so she kept her work tablet to herself, which is fine— he only needed a couple looks at the list to know what he was going to be dealing with: gloves, nurse scrubs, needles, face masks, basically anything anyone would need to properly keep germs away and any wounds clean, and very similar to the things he kept at home.

It’s not a big closet, and most of the things inside it were sealed so it was easy to keep track of everything. He gets invested in it, thinks about how it’s not surprising they have this much when they’re dealing with so many kids. He was told there were around eighty— he can’t imagine how Suzuki-san has been dealing with being the only medical professional around until now with that number. This particular orphanage regularly saves kids from the street, too, so the number probably grows every year, and he knows adoption rates aren’t that high in Den City, so a great deal of them will probably live at the orphanage until they become of age.

He lingers in the infirmary once he’s done, hesitant to go wandering off on his own or interrupting Suzuki-san. The building is bigger than what it looks like on the outside, and you only get an idea of it when you look at the kitchen and the patio. This place could easily have been a school.

Thankfully, though, he’s saved by Suzuki-san walking in just as Ryoken starts to itch for something to do and starts sneaking glances at the folders on the desk, his mind restless.

“You’re done?” Suzuki-san asks, and Ryoken barely nods before she’s gesturing for him to follow her out of the door. She is as alone as she was earlier, but the moment he steps into the hallway he can tell most if not all of the orphanage is up. There are a few more adults walking around, childish noises can be heard, and he even gets to see some of them wandering around before they’re pulled away by another caretaker through the hallways to the rooms they should be in. He hopes those child-proofed doors are working properly.

The sight of the puffy cheeks and bright eyes make something in Ryoken’s chest tighten, though, different faces from years ago flashing in his mind before he’s looking away, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. It’s ironic; ever since he started therapy, some things have been better, like his perfectionist streak, – which he’s been told might be because of OCD, but he doesn’t want to look into that quite yet – the way he looks at and how he feels about everything, but some things are worse now. The guilt over the Hanoi Project is back in the forefront of his mind now, instead of buried underneath ten years of denial and scheming, and it’s one of the reasons he was dreading working at the orphanage so much.

His therapist said it would help him, though, and that it would be bad before it got better. She advised him to start small, and so Ryoken is not surprised nor displeased when Suzuki-san opens the door of the nursery for him, steps in behind him and closes the door. It’s eerily silent inside, except for some sounds of shifting and breathing, but it’s clear most of the babies, or at least the oldest ones, have already been woken up for breakfast or some other activity.

“You’re going to help me out here until lunch time. A few people are going to be coming in and out to check on them, too, but it’ll be mostly you and I,” Suzuki-san whispers, advancing further into the room and gesturing at the cribs, most of which are empty. The room is big, with a small play area and a diaper changing station, as well as a few counters in the corner with an electric stove and some pots, which he guesses is where the caretakers make the milk for the babies. “The boy who usually keeps an eye on the babes for me is sick this week, but I have a friend coming in this afternoon, and I thought that you should learn how to handle a baby before I throw you at that army of kids.”

Somehow, the thought seems like the most terrifying thing he’s heard in his life. “I agree.”

Suzuki-san smiles and leads him through the rows of cribs until they reach the ones towards the left of the room, the ones that still seem to house plenty of babies. Ryoken glances at them as they walk by, sees that some look as young as only a few months old, red-faced and so small Onizuka could carry them with one hand, others as old as two years old and napping away or drifting.

They stop in front of a specific crib, belonging to a baby girl that Ryoken can’t really estimate an age for. All the cribs have names, so Ryoken knows that this particular baby is called Yuki, and she’s awake but quiet, looking up at them with a smile that’s lacking some teeth and bright, forest green eyes.

Suzuki-san coos at her, and Ryoken stands to the side, rather awkwardly, as she pulls the baby out of the crib, untangling one of her legs from her blanket once she has her safely perched on her arm, her head over her shoulder.

“Have you ever held a baby, Kogami-kun?”

It’s such a simple question, meant for Suzuki-san to be aware of what his level of experience is, and yet Ryoken finds himself feeling slightly embarrassed at his answer because he doesn’t like the idea of disappointing her when she’s been so kind to him so far. “No, I haven’t.”

“I figured. You look terrified,” Suzuki-san winks, which only makes Ryoken more reluctant about this whole ordeal. The baby raises her little arms and grabs at the end of Suzuki-san’s ponytail, looking fascinated, but she barely seems to feel it. “This is Yuu-chan. She’s about to turn one, and she’s one of our more friendly babes here. I think you should get to know her, get an idea of what you’ll be dealing with.”

Suzuki-san rearranges the baby in her arms so she’s mostly sitting over them, her hand curled protectively around her to keep her balance. Like this, Ryoken can look at the baby’s face clearly, and finds himself making eye contact. He stands there, unsure of what to do as the baby just stares at him with her mouth a little open, but one quick look from Suzuki-san encourages to clear his throat and _try._

“Hi,” he starts, blinks when the baby tilts her head to the side. As awkward as anything can be, Ryoken brings up his hand and stretches it out for the baby, not considering the fact that she may not know what a handshake is. “I’m Kogami Ryoken. It’s nice to meet you, Yuu-chan.”

At the sound of her name, the baby smiles, stares at Ryoken’s hands, and then grabs one his fingers with a surprisingly strong grip. She’s a bit sticky, probably because she was sucking her fingers before she was pulled out of her crib, but Ryoken manages to not freak out. He’s dealt with much more than just sticky fingers caring for his father, after all.

The baby suddenly giggles at him, a light, carefree sound that internally spooks him, and Suzuki-san chuckles as well, looking like she finds this whole situation amusing. Yuu-chan holds on to his finger and babbles at him, trying to form words, but Suzuki-san distracts her by speaking up.

“Do you want to get to know Kogami-kun, Yuu-chan?” She asks her, making Ryoken shake his head behind the baby’s back. Yuu-chan babbles and stares up at her face, then back at Ryoken and at the finger she’s holding. She smiles, giggles again, pulls at Ryoken’s finger, and he’s suddenly very, very afraid. “Alright, then, Kogami-kun, it’s time to teach you how to hold a baby. I promise it’s not that hard.”

Ryoken frowns, letting Yuu-chan drive his finger into her mouth to bite it. “You’re a professional. You can’t say it’s not that hard.”

Suzuki-san shoots him a stern look, and then bounces Yuu-chan once in her arms, making Ryoken have a mini-heart attack. The baby only giggles with delight though, letting go of Ryoken’s finger to hold onto Suzuki-san’s shirt. “Just follow my lead and it will be fine.”

Ryoken knows he has no choice. He will probably be forbidden from leaving this room until he holds a baby, and he’s not looking forward to doing this under even more pressure.

Ryoken steps closer to Suzuki-san and awkwardly holds his arms out, waiting for instructions. Suzuki-san doesn’t open her mouth at all, though, she just balances the baby on one of her arms and then carefully grabs her with the other hand under her armpits. She extends her arms out, slowly, turning the baby a bit towards him, so Ryoken takes the hint and sets his hand right under the baby’s bum, supporting the weight on his hand, wrist and part of his arm, his other hand rising to wrap around her back until his hand is safely under her armpit.

“You’re doing great, but this is where it get tricky,” Suzuki-san says, making his nerves spike. He would have liked it better if she had remained quiet. “Kogami-kun, babies are heavier than what they look like. You’re a strong-looking guy, but I want you to be prepared for when I let go. Push her to your chest and make sure you’re grabbing her comfortably. You can always adjust your grip after she’s in your arms.”

Ryoken nods, terrified out his ability to speak because he doesn’t want to add _‘dropped a baby’_ to his list of sins. Suzuki-san gives him a second before she starts taking her hands away, slowly, letting Ryoken become accustomed to the weight and adjust his grip, all while Yuu-chan babbles away, ignorant to the tension of his body.

Ryoken pushes Yuu-chan as softly as he can towards his chest, keeps his hand under her armpit and grabbing at her side firm but delicate, and with some help manages to adjust the angle of his arm so he’s safely leaning her weight over it. Then, Suzuki-san steps away, breaks contact, and Ryoken is left holding a baby on his own.

“Oh,” he breathes out, listening to Yuu-chan mumbling nonsense in his ear and feeling sticky fingers come up to grab his hair. “Oh, no, can I go back to jail? This is too much.”

Suzuki-san laughs, which in turn makes Yuu-chan giggle. Ryoken just feels like a fool, and perhaps he is one.

“Don’t worry, Kogami-kun, it gets easier with practice,” Suzuki-san reaches over and runs her fingers through Yuu-chan’s pale blonde hair, that’s short but thick, and smiles when she chuckles, trying to turn around to follow the phantom hand and making Ryoken struggle to figure out how to move her. “It’ll come naturally, you’ll see. Now, I’m going to get her breakfast, check on the others, and you two bond over in the play area meanwhile, yeah?”

She doesn’t actually give him a choice; Suzuki-san just turns around and leaves him with Yuu-chan, walking towards the counters in the corner and looking through the cupboards. There’s nothing he can do but obey her though. It makes him a little nervous at the start to walk while holding Yuu-chan, but a few steps in he feels confident enough to do so without tightening his grip like a vice and making her uncomfortable, so he reaches the play area with no issues whatsoever, and doesn’t struggle while putting Yuu-chan down, even if it did occur to him that he could slip up. But he doesn’t, and that’s what matters.

Yuu-chan immediately tries to stand after he sets her down, which makes his heart race because he has no idea if she can walk already or if she’s learning, so he sits down and calls her name, pleased when she turns towards him, smiles, and gets on her knees to crawl on top of his lap. From the other side of the room, Suzuki-san turns to look at them and smiles, shooting him a thumbs up and a smile.

It takes him longer than it should have to figure out how to sit her in his lap, despite it being pretty straightforward, but he just— he’s totally out of his depth. He knows almost nothing of children and babies unless it’s directly related to health issues; he doesn’t know how to hug them or hold them or, or _anything._ He’s learned more about babies in the last ten minutes than he ever thought he would.

With a sigh, Ryoken looks down at Yuu-chan and meets her eyes, speaking up softly to keep Suzuki-san from listening in. “Look, if this is gonna work we need to get along. I’ll let you use my name because I’m using yours. Say Ryoken.”

Yuu-chan stares at him in innocent expectation, and Ryoken realizes he’s probably going to need another tactic. Are all babies dense? Is he just expecting too much because he has zero idea of how this works?

“Alright,” Ryoken points to her chest, makes sure she’s watching, and allows his finger to make contact. “Yuu-chan.”

The baby cheers up, clapping her hands together and babbling. Ryoken does it again, several times until she seemed to have understood, because Yuu-chan reaches out to touch him and says, in the cutest voice he’s ever heard, “Yuu-chaa?”

“No,” Ryoken shakes his head, points at himself. “Ryoken.”

Yuu-chan stares in silence, her eyes wide. “Rok-ee?”

 _What am I doing?_ Ryoken wonders to himself, then decides that he may as well just roll with it. He’s just trying to communicate with the kid. He’s sure she must already know some words, otherwise this would be a lost cause.

“Ryoken,” he repeats, slowly, and Yuu-chan chuckles at it, so Ryoken does it again, only to get a literal handful of her fingers trying to breach his mouth. With a snort, Ryoken takes her hand away from his mouth and points at himself. “Ryoken.”

Yuu-chan blinks. “Roken!”

“No, it’s Ryoken.”

“Roken!” Yuu-chan repeats, so Ryoken decides it might as well stick. Unsure of how to show his approval, Ryoken does what Kyoko used to do to him before things got serious and runs a hand through her hair, messing it up to make her laugh. It brings a small smile to his lips to hear it, and it’s hard to keep it from growing when she calls his name again, pointing at the assortment of plushies and toys around them to pick from. “Roken!”

Ryoken looks around, scanning the ground for a worthy toy, and spies an extremely familiar color palette out of the corner of his eye. He turns his head towards it in a hurry, hitting himself with Yuu-chan’s hand in the process. He makes sure she didn’t get hurt before quickly stretching out his arm, grabbing that cursed thing with his hand and _staring._

A Playmaker plushie looks back at him from behind empty, green fabric eyes, his suit an _almost but not quite_ replica of the one the actual avatar wears and his hair a spiky mess of orange, yellow and pink, as always. The head is round and the body small, chibi-style, but the fact that it’s kind of cute makes him angry.

“Pay-maked!” Yuu-chan exclaims, her little hands falling on the toy and all but ripping it from Ryoken’s hands to hug it, its head tight against her chest. She looks up at Ryoken like she’s expecting him to be excited. “Roken!”

 _Even at a fucking orphanage,_ Ryoken shakes his head, shooting Yuu-chan a tense smile while he internally curses all his stars, _you’re here, chasing me._

“Let’s not play with that, yeah?” Ryoken makes an attempt to take the toy away from her, but Yuu-chan leans away from his hand and clutches the toy harder, bouncing on his lap with excitement. “You’re making this hard. I’m sure there’s better toys around here.”

Ryoken scans the floor again, sees a plushie of Onizuka, and decides that this job is too complicated for him. He would rather try his luck with the Playmaker plushie, so, with a sigh, Ryoken randomly grabs another plushie, one on the shape of a duck, and stares. How exactly does playing with a baby work? Do you just give them things and watch them? Do you participate in it? Is he supposed to talk to her about things?

“Roken!” Yuu-chan calls, so Ryoken stops staring at the duck to see her pointing at a dragon plushie, struggling to get off his lap. Ryoken is scared to let her go, but the floor is a soft carpet that’s clearly meant to stop kids from hurting themselves, so he lets her crawl away and watches as she grabs the other plushie and brings it back to him, making him set the duck aside. “Pay!”

She’s obviously far better at this than Ryoken is. Yuu-chan sits on her butt and babbles at the Playmaker plushie, moving it around and occasionally giggling, but Ryoken just struggles to understand what the hell is going on and how he’s supposed to act. He doesn’t think he’s ever played with toys like this; the games he does recall were all meant to teach him how to count, to recognize figures and patterns. The only plushie he’s ever had is lying somewhere in a box, gathering dust and mostly unused ever since his mom—

Well, he can’t ask Yuu-chan to explain it. She can barely talk, even if she seems to be decent at understanding some things. Babies are smarter than he thought they would be.

Apparently noticing his confusion, Yuu-chan calls for him and crawls over, stretching out her little arms for him to grab at the plushie. She babbles something that may have actually been an attempt at words, because she points at the Playmaker plushie and then at the dragon, clapping her hands together. Hesitantly, Ryoken sits the Playmaker plushie on top of the dragon, which makes Yuu-chan smile, looking a bit entranced with the toys.

Ryoken just follows her lead. Yuu-chan is amazing at bringing him new toys to play with once she gets tired of Ryoken applying dramatics to the one she’s already given him, and it’s not long before he’s surrounded by all types of plushies, some dolls, and a board game that Ryoken assumes she’s using as a stage, because she makes Ryoken play with the toys on top of it and knocks them out when she gets bored. Eventually he starts talking to her again, asking simple yes or no questions or just commenting on what they’re doing – which, Ryoken still hasn’t quite figured out, to be honest, but she seems to have a story in her head – and just gradually relaxes until he’s trying to explain to her why Playmaker is a cool hero.

She seems to disagree with him on a few things, like his statement about how Playmaker’s sense of justice is impressive but a bit biased, but she’s probably just confused about what he means. He can only push her mind so far.

Suzuki-san returns with her food and gives Ryoken a little break to just, stand up and walk around, because his legs are cramping from all the sitting and crawling after Yuu-chan and having her get on and off his lap, but he sticks close to watch Suzuki-san’s feeding technique, already committing it to memory so he can be prepared. He’s going to have to get Spectre to buy him books on how to handle kids, and especially babies, so he can be ready for any situation. He isn’t sure he’s made a good impression on Yuu-chan, but he knows he likes her.

Then Suzuki-san places Yuu-chan back in her crib for her nap – she drops like a rock the moment her head touches the pillow – and introduces Ryoken to the rest of the babies, lets him hold them, feed them and play with them to the point in which, by the time she’s pulling him away for lunch, Ryoken is just so used to the babies that he forgot about the kids entirely, and the sudden return to the sounds of running steps and screaming make him wince.

Suzuki-san takes pity on him and takes him to a little break room instead of the kitchen or dining room, sitting him down and offering him a cup of tea that reminds him of the ones Spectre drinks, though he can’t recall what flavor it is and he doesn’t ask.

“You look far less tense now, Kogami-kun,” she points out, and Ryoken can’t help but agree.

“It was nice,” he says, but keeps it at that. The only person he’s been able to open up to, probably in his life, has been his therapist, so he’s not going to talk about how this day has impacted him to a lady that, while really kind, he just met.

He couldn’t have said more anyways, because Onizuka takes that moment to appear, looking just a bit more relaxed than he was this morning. He pauses when he notices Ryoken is in the room, but Suzuki-san gains his attention through a smile and an invitation to have lunch with them.

It’s awkward. Ryoken eats quietly, listening to them talk but not really making an effort to participate in the conversation, but once every few minutes he catches Onizuka looking at him like he wants to say something to him, or perhaps he’s waiting for him to leave as well, which won’t happen— Suzuki-san is his boss, and he doesn’t want to get lost in this place, so he’s much better off following her instructions instead of trying to wander off.

After eating, Suzuki-san takes him to meet some of the smallest kids, those who are over four years old but aren’t ten yet, and they all stare at him in awe, some with fear mixed in. Suzuki-san was there to break the ice by organizing a fairy tale reading, and she made Ryoken help her out doing character voices.

“You have an amazing range, Kogami-kun!” She says, making Ryoken splutter and several of the kids giggle, many of them agreeing with her, and it’s nice— up until Onizuka shows up for play time and the attention of the kids gets obviously divided.

All of them give him a warm welcome full of screaming and hugging, but afterwards many decide to interrogate him, a couple bringing up the fact that he was Revolver. He tries his best to answer their questions, but he’s left confused by the logic they follow— despite his villainy, he was apparently cool enough to gather some positive attention. He even gets a couple questions on his deck and how it works, and answers them eagerly; he’s a bit too technical with his words at the start, but eventually realizes he needs to simplify things for them for the sake of not having to repeat himself. It’s not long before the talk about Duel Monsters draws more of the kids to his side of the room, and he’s so effectively distracted by the kids that he doesn’t notice Suzuki-san leaving the room up until he looks up and finds Onizuka glaring at him by himself from beside the door.

He leaves without a word, and the kids notice this and whine about it, but Ryoken cheers them up again by – and he’s not proud of this – talking about Playmaker’s deck. It’s easy to just let his tongue run lose about Playmaker’s strategy during their duel atop the Tower of Hanoi, because he hasn’t had anyone to talk about this with but Spectre, and not in depth. The kids are too limited in knowledge to really turn this into a discussion instead of a retelling or an explanation of events, but he enjoys it nonetheless, even if the look in Onizuka’s eyes before he left made him feel like there were some loose ends to tie up before he could insert himself into this place and get used to a routine he’ll follow for two years.

It’s something he decides he needs to solve, even if he knows it won’t be welcome, but for the moment Ryoken just focuses on the kids and tries not to lose control of the crowd. They all want him to teach him how to play and are bringing out cards, which does surprise him— physical copies aren’t really that used anymore, but he guesses that, with Link VRAINS closing, old school dueling is coming back in fashion. He’s so glad the police didn’t confiscate his physical copies now, but he won’t be able to print out any that might have been floating around in his Duel Disk without it… unless Spectre has a backup in his own. Hm.

Alas, Ryoken doesn’t linger on it because he would have no one to play with at home and he already knows Spectre’s deck by heart. Besides, he probably has new cards he doesn’t know about and that would just not be fair. He misses buying cards.

Ryoken doesn’t know how long he stays in that room, but eventually Suzuki-san brings him out to have a break in the back playground, watching kids play from afar, and finds that the sun is setting already, which means it’s almost time for him to leave.

“Yuu-chan is head over heels for you,” she tells him, chuckles when Ryoken shakes his head and snorts. “She won’t stop calling your name. Maybe you should go visit her again.”

“Tomorrow,” Ryoken intertwines his fingers together, tapping them against the back of his each of his hands and staring at them. His mind is running through a thousand things he could say now, to thank her for being understanding enough of him, but they all come up short, so he just clears his throat and changes the subject. “You said Onizuka wasn’t coming in as often because of work. What is he doing now that Link VRAINS is closed?”

Suzuki-san’s smile falters, but she looks more worried than upset. “I don’t know what kind of job he’s doing now, to be honest. He won’t tell us much about it, but we know it pays well and that’s made him… tougher, somehow. Not as easy to smile as before. The kids really miss him.”

Ryoken feels tempted to say he has no idea why Onizuka would volunteer to watch him if he was not going to be around him like a shadow at all, and that this new job seemed to have sucked what made him stand out as a duelist right out of him, but he doesn’t. Instead he nods, shrugging with one shoulder as if to brush off the sudden change of Suzuki-san’s mood.

“I’m sure that if you can take me in, you can keep him from falling out,” Ryoken feels out of place saying it, but Suzuki-san sighs and shoots him a grateful smile, sets her hand on his knee and squeezes once as if to thank him. “Thank you for having me.”

Her eyes twinkle, the faded grey lighting up with reassurance. “It’s no problem at all, Kogami-kun.”

Ryoken is being handcuffed again barely one hour later, standing outside the orphanage as the sun goes down and listening with one ear to what Nakamura-san is talking with Suzuki-san about, a conversation that revolves mostly around his behavior. He sees Nakamura-san laugh at something she says, bring a hand up to point at him with a thumb before leaning in for them to snicker at something – probably his attitude – and Ryoken rolls his eyes, the officer that’s handcuffing him nodding at him as if to say she gets it. He doubts she does.

Onizuka stands a little behind the officer, looking at Ryoken as if he’s going to break out of them to escape any second now, so Ryoken waits until she’s gone and Nakamura-san is saying his goodbyes to address the elephant in the room. “If you have something you want to say to me, you should speak up now. I don’t want to deal with this every day.”

The supposed professional Charisma Duelist looks at him like he’s the biggest piece of crap he could have stepped on. It’s an uncharacteristically grim look on him, and it doesn’t do any favors for his already stern-looking face.

“What makes you say that?” He says, immediately going on the defensive and frowning. Ryoken is worried he’s going to get wrinkles induced by his bottled-up anger and frustration towards him; the thought almost makes him smile.

“It’s been almost a year,” Ryoken shrugs, but avoids keeping eye contact for too long. He just wants to be done with this so he can go home, so he can look at Onizuka without feeling like he’s stealing something from him. He’s not a stranger to wanting attention, even if for him that attention would have come from his father. “I thought you’d be over our duel by now.”

Onizuka visibly tenses up, arms bulging almost like his muscles are also trying to insult him or warn him about his words. Ryoken glances at the officer, who’s _just_ close enough to hear them, and sees her shaking her head. Well, approval from adults is overrated. There was never such a thing in his life, and he doesn’t need it now.

“You have no idea what I think about you or our duel,” Onizuka sounds as grim as he looks, which really serves to contrast against the bright colors of the orphanage and how nice the colors from the sunset are looking. Ryoken raises a skeptical eyebrow, an action that only serves to rile him up further. “You don’t even know what’s been happening ever since you were thrown inside a cell.”

“I wouldn’t say thrown. More like eagerly walked in,” Ryoken tries not to sound too proud of that, or indecently smug, but it’s hard. Onizuka’s frown deepens, so Ryoken sighs and shakes his head. “Look, we both know I shouldn’t even be here, but there’s nothing either of us can do to change it. I just…”

Ryoken drifts off, frowning, and wonders where exactly he’s going with this. Is he going to apologize to him over the fact that he’s a better duelist? Over turning him into data? That barely feels relevant to him now, almost unimportant and he doesn’t really regret it, or any of the things that happened that day— after all, it’s thanks to everything piling up with his newfound knowledge that Ryoken found the courage to stop fighting a war in a way he never wished to. If he had ran away, he would have tried to reform the ideals of the Knights of Hanoi, go from cyber-terrorists to people just looking out for humanity in the background using illegal means but not getting others involved or harming innocents.

He doesn’t have quite the same disregard for human life his father did. He was dead, after all, and had nothing to lose. Ryoken does, and his own life is the one that matters the least— which is a very negative thought his therapist would scold him about, actually. If Onizuka’s current problems towards him are also about the kids, then he has nothing to say to him, because he should know by now how much they care about him.

Ryoken sighs, giving up on finding a real explanation based on observation and little else, and shakes his head. “I don’t want you to think that our duel was a personal attack. It meant nothing to me. If anything, take it as motivation to improve— not to bring yourself down. It’d be a shame if those children suddenly lost their hero. They look up to you, despite everything. You’re the one they know the most.”

Onizuka blinks down at him, surprised, and opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. Ryoken waits, but he can’t seem to decide if he’s angry or just surprised at his boldness, so eventually Ryoken just shrugs and gestures with his head towards Suzuki-san, making sure Onizuka gets the hint.

“People care about you here,” he states, watches Onizuka’s shoulders slump ever so slightly. “Don’t give up on them when they haven’t given up on you. Didn’t you used to have a manager as well?”

A little voice in his brain points out how hypocritical that is, but he shuts it down before it can affect him. Nakamura-san walks towards them, finally, sets his hand on Ryoken’s shoulder to guide him to the car as Suzuki-san waves at them from the door, but Onizuka doesn’t move and avoids making eye contact with anyone, looking at his feet instead.

Ryoken says his goodbyes to Suzuki-san, turns to the car, and goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dub, for an ideal baby pronunciation of the name "Ryoken".


	3. let that sink in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with more shenanigans from the Gun Boy. If you weren't expecting this update, well. Neither was I. Enjoy!

Ryoken got assigned a psychologist specialized in dealing with cases of emotional manipulation and abuse like his by the court, and he was set to keep seeing her for at least a year or until she deemed him ready to face society without falling back into any self-destructive behavior. Which is no easy task, if he’s being honest— even he doesn’t know how he ends up doing that sort of thing to himself sometimes.

While he was in jail, she bothered to come all the way to the prison two times a week to have their appointed sessions, but she eventually requested for them to be three times a week instead, which probably said a lot about his mental state at the start of his sentence. As per his parole conditions, Ryoken is now meant to see her every Friday to do a recounting of the week, discuss what he’s done, what he’s learned, what’s different, what he’s planning to do and, of course, how he feels about all of it.

Ryoken isn’t really confident in how he feels about having to meet a therapist at all. On one hand, it has been extremely helpful to have the unbiased opinion of a professional, but one the other, he never _knew_ he needed the help. It just isn’t in him to openly ask for help without a strategic reason for it or to try to examine himself, and much less so when it comes to emotions and feelings he doesn’t know how to handle. His usual method was to just ignore them, but his doctor made it very clear from day one that that was _not_ how he was supposed to take care of himself.

His time seeing her has been enlightening, but only thanks to her dedication to helping him dig himself out of the burial hole he had all but prepared for himself along with the Tower of Hanoi. The things he learned about his relationship with his father while on therapy make the memories of his speeches as they gazed down at the phenomenon of Stardust Road bittersweet and unwelcome but at the same time nostalgic, now that he’s able to see them in a new light. Still, he will keep her advice to still enjoy the view and create new memories around it— it would be a shame to avoid such a beautiful sight, after all.

There are other things the doctor told him he shouldn’t avoid from the get-go, like the letters he kept receiving in jail without fail every week in the same messy scrawl that progressively got marginally more readable, and the sender himself. At the start, Ryoken couldn’t even see the cheap envelopes without choking in guilt and misdirected anger, but a month into their session his doctor insisted on him opening the first one and reading it out loud, just the two of them in the room.

It was humiliating, in a word. Ryoken remembers the shame, the anger and the embarrassment like it happened yesterday, but after getting that first glimpse at Fujiki Yusaku’s attempt to do right by his promise by writing him every single week, he couldn’t stop. It was bizarre; the first letter was awkward and almost lacking personally, a retelling of all was happening with Link VRAINS and SOL and the rest of the Knights of Hanoi since he was disconnected from the rest of the world, as well the mention that his penmanship has never been the best and an apology for it. The last paragraph on it was clearly added last minute, in an even messier scrawl that would have made his tutors tear their eyes out, but Ryoken got the gist of it.

Fujiki feels grateful. Not only that, he’s calm and not full of anger and revenge anymore, suddenly content but also unimaginably _sad._ He could see it in each carefully measured word, and his closing statements about him hoping Ryoken can learn to forgive himself got stuck in his head for all of his sentence, being the origin of so many conflicting feelings he doesn’t know what to do about.

Ryoken’s initial scoff at the letter was a reaction he instantly and still currently regrets. He found it so silly and pathetic when at his lowest point Fujiki, by all means someone who shouldn’t want to hear his name being uttered ever again, was holding onto him like this when he should hate him for what he almost did— the Tower of Hanoi never sat well with him, even as he helped its development, and it wasn’t until he logged out from Link VRAINS after his loss to the flat line of his father’s heart monitor that he realized just how scared he was of it all, of going through with regressing civilization by centuries, ending so many innocent lives in an attempt to delete a program that got out of hand.

He protected it anyways, but his therapist insists to this day that the Tower of Hanoi was a symbol of his father’s ideals, something he wanted to cling onto and protect until the end, and that the fall was the real breaking point for him. Ryoken is inclined to agree with her after so many sessions in which she hammered it into his head in several different ways until he understood what she meant, but it came to make him wonder just how desperate he was to hold on to the illusion of having a proud father and being a good son.

Returning to Den City though means he doesn’t have anything to hide behind.

His father owned a big percentage of the mountain their house rested upon, having even a private road to be able to drive up and down the driveway instead of taking the stairs, an underground garage, access to a small, private segment of the beach with a dock, an entrance gate on said private road that could only be opened by security codes or fingerprints scans— it’s a huge area for the police to cover with security cameras to make sure he’s not going in and out in case the GPS in his ankle monitor was tampered with, but they managed to do the job before his arrival. He has no doubt Spectre helped in some way.

Visits are allowed without much hassle, not that he has any, but reporters are kept at arm’s length. Cameras are installed in every exit and he’s not allowed out unless he has a therapist appointment or community service to cover, so Spectre is the one that has to take care of anything that might require going into town, and he has to walk all the way to the train station for that because Ryoken is not allowed to have any of the cars. The keys were taken from them without any resistance whatsoever, mostly because they didn’t want to bring any attention to the fact that Ryoken can drive without having a license.

It's quite anticlimactic to be back at his childhood home, all in all. He expected to feel the place as it’s always been: cold, distant and unfamiliar, clinical at best, but it turns out he can’t find it in himself to be comfortable with that anymore. Being back is strangely relieving and at the same time makes him tremendously uneasy; he reasons, thanks to the advice he’s been given by his therapist to think things through instead of bottling it them up, that it may be because his perception of the place has changed, that perhaps before he would have been able to distance himself from his actual emotions towards all the things that have and haven’t happened there but now he can’t.

Apart from that though, his first week back is uneventful. He settles into a routine at the orphanage; Suzuki-san keeps him either in the nursery or at the infirmary, coaxes him to get to know more of the regular staff members, makes sure all the kids are familiar with him and is always around to make sure things aren’t getting too out of hand for him. On his second say, Suzuki-san’s words about Yuu-chan were proved as true, because the second she noticed him she started calling for him, and he kept her around him as much as he could for the whole week.

The older kids started asking for piggybacks rides, and Ryoken couldn’t say no. He was no mole nor giant though, so he suffered the consequences of that through back cramps at night, which goes to show just how many kids he allowed to ride him. He also got the homework of reading through the medical files of the kids with delicate health conditions or grave allergies, in the form of that bunch of paper folders that were on Suzuki-san’s desk during his first day.

There’s also Spectre telling him everything he’s been able to find out about the rest of the Knights of Hanoi and giving him a tour around the changes he’s managed to make to their garden— which is, despite the years of neglect, already starting to look semi-decent thanks to Spectre’s magical green hands. He also complains every day in extreme detail about having to enroll in Den City High School to cover one of the several conditions he was given to avoid spending a few more months in a psychological recovery facility, and perhaps Ryoken is being just a bit petty, but he would have agreed to that far easier than to house arrest.

“I’m not in the same class as Playmaker, unfortunately,” Spectre grinned that Wednesday afternoon in which Ryoken got off the orphanage earlier, holding a pair of gardening scissors and kneeling on the dirt as he planted some vegetables— apparently he decided eating store-bought vegetables was savagery, somehow. Ryoken could not tell the difference. “But his new little friend, Homura— he’s fun to mess with. And not as dumb or smart as he looks, but has a mean punch.”

“ _Please_ don’t get detention,” was Ryoken’s immediate answer at the implication of violence, sipping at a glass of orange juice from behind an old pair of designer sunglasses he was sure he had never used before. He’s still cleaning out his closet; he grew in height and muscle in jail, and it was proving to be a problem. He had already ruined three shirts. “If you get detention then I’ll get bored. You are my only source of entertainment right now.”

“That’s because you refuse to acknowledge Playmaker’s existence,” Spectre shot him a knowing look, and Ryoken barely could keep himself from groaning out loud, burying himself further in the chair he brought out to watch him and sipping loudly from his drink. “I’ve seen him around, you know. Talked to him. He’s _always_ sighing like a schoolgirl with a crush. I wonder why.”

Ryoken sometimes really hates Spectre. He’s great and all, his closest friend – _only_ friend, no matter what his therapist says – but he’s always pulling out people’s dirty laundry. It’s funnier when he’s not the subject of his aggressive psychoanalysis.

He does have a point though— Ryoken is sure that if he had bothered to answer any of Fujiki’s letters he wouldn’t be uselessly lying around rereading them to the point in which he memorized some lines that were absolute gems – _‘I hit Shima in the face because he kept insisting on playing volleyball during P.E. It was an accident. He will not invite me to play anymore.’_ – but trying to reach out would be like admitting he doesn’t think he’s the worse piece of crap that has ever taken a step in the history of the universe, and while therapy helps with that, Ryoken is not _quite_ there yet.

Besides, he doubts Fujiki would risk appearing around his house and leave a trace of his presence. While his testimony was terribly honest and he never stopped sending letters despite Ryoken’s lack of response, government officials aren’t aware they know each other from anything other than the Lost Incident. Coming around would be suspicious and put in danger his identity as Playmaker, so, judging by how smart he usually seems to be, he would probably not visit him and will most definitively find another way of harassing him into talking to him, once he has a proper plan cooked up. For now, though, he enjoys his peace.

That’s only what Ryoken wants to believe, to be honest, so for his first week back he sticks with that conclusion and tricks himself into a false sense of security. On Friday, he gets off from the orphanage at three p.m. to be taken by Nakamura-san right to his first therapy session now that he’s back in Den City. His therapist is one of the best his father’s dirty money could get, but Ryoken cared more about the patients’ recommendations and pro bono work than the number of diplomas on her wall— Hamasaki Yukiko is a brilliant woman that has several degrees in psychology and has published very interesting and successful research essays, studied abroad, married and divorced, has three children and several decades of experience. Her office is downtown, in a small studio apartment just comfortable and homey enough to not feel clinically intrusive, and she is one of the most intelligent people he’s ever met.

She’s also not scared of calling him out on his bullshit and telling him he’s wrong, which is something that he initially hated but has now come to appreciate. He guesses it’s literally her job, but ten months ago he couldn’t help but think she was there to personally make his life worse. He told her this at one point and she actually laughed at him before offering him some brownies, which Ryoken still finds quite condescending of her— not that he really cares when he’s come to appreciate her help so much. Yukiko-san could probably take over the world in a week and make it better in three, and he would be alright with that.

Today, she receives him Nakamura-san with a graceful smile and recently baked chocolate chip cookies with warm milk and honey. He’s been suspecting all her sweets are part of a plan to get him to open up faster, because Ryoken always showed up wound tighter than a submarine screw and with five layers of denial on top. He was always weak to sugar, and she figured that out way too fast, barely a couple of therapy sessions in. Her cookies are delicious though, so he’s not complaining.

Nakamura-san is not complaining either, settling in the living room with high praises rolling off his tongue as Yukiko-san guides him towards her office, a tray in her hand. Ryoken opens the door for her and helps her with their mugs, setting them down on the coffee table with care as she sets the plate right next to them, going back to the kitchen quickly to look for some napkins. Ryoken sits on the armchair closest to the door and waits, glancing around the room and taking in the warm atmosphere to relax. He really likes Yukiko-san’s office, now that he’s seeing it in person instead of in pictures; it’s cozy and personal, as well as comfortable, with dark wooden floors and paneled walls, a cream-colored carpet, one three-people couch, two armchairs, and her desk, as well as the coffee table and a window to the right looking out at the city, letting the daylight in.

It’s better than the room they were given back in prison, and quite different from how his father’s office is. Kiyoshi liked his things sleek and seemingly uncomfortable. Ryoken was never able to sit on any of his chairs without eventually growing tense, and his father loved to have his white walls and neutral grey tones. The most color he ever allowed in his own spaces were green and red, which is unsurprising— as much as Ryoken helped him create the Knights of Hanoi, he never had much artistic license with their look. He also enjoyed having all of his accomplishments shoved on people’s faces, which is why the mansion is full of diplomas, pictures, signed papers, awards and other miscellaneous tokens of his time as a respectable scientist, doctor, and professor. Ryoken resented their existence with all his might; Kiyoshi loved to compare himself to him even when he was a child, asking for the best and only the best of him and even when he gave it, it was never enough.

He’s almost glad he was homeschooled— Ryoken wouldn’t have been able to stand any grade below perfect any more than his father would have. All of his efforts on art or anything not related to science and coding and research and experimentation was useless to his father; Kiyoshi measured his worth by what he could exploit out of him, and Ryoken let him for the longest time because he didn’t know any better. No more.

“Already getting in the zone?” Yukiko-san asks, and Ryoken blinks to focus back on the present. She’s settling in the armchair right in front of him, bringing her milk up to her lips and shooting him a curious look. Ryoken shrugs, letting a rueful little smile take over his lips. “I see, then. Shall we begin?”

“I guess,” Ryoken stretches his arm out, grabbing a cookie and biting it. The chocolate melts in this mouth, the homemade taste hitting him full force and drawing a sigh out of him. He would have to control himself to avoid eating the whole plate, but he already sees himself failing at it. “As great as always, Yukiko-san.”

“Don’t butter me up,” she raises her eyebrows at him, brown eyes looking at him in a calculating manner. She’s always so sweet when she’s not diving into his personal issues. Tucking a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ears, Yukiko-san picks up a notebook with several highlighter bookmarks from the coffee table, opening on a brand new page. She has a system for her notes on him that Ryoken is very curious about, because they have talked about so many things it seems impossible for him to classify it, but she managed, somehow. He’d like to read it someday. “Let’s get right to the point today. How was your trip back to Den City?”

“The trip itself? Mostly uneventful. It seemed that some people were excited about my release though— I’ve never been thrown an egg before,” Ryoken tries to keep his voice neutral, but some exasperation slips into his tone, which he thinks it’s understandable; people shouldn’t waste food on cyber-terrorists. “Other than that, it was fine. Spectre baked a mini carrot cake. He’s been planting all sort of stuff in the backyard, cleaning out bad weeds. We’re rebuilding most of it.”

“Oh, that’s great! I hope he’s been enjoying himself. He sent me some of your sketches via email and they look wonderful,” Yukiko-san grins, tapping her pen against her notebook in thought, ignoring the way Ryoken almost chokes at the mention of the conceptual sketches he came up with. “Make sure to say hello to him for me, and tell him he can come over whenever he wants. He’s nice company.”

Ryoken still can’t believe there’s someone apart from him that thinks Spectre is good company. “I’ll make sure to remember that.”

“How’s community service going?”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Ryoken says it almost like he’s admitting a sin, narrowing his eyes and breaking eye contact. Ryoken grabs another cookie, mostly to keep his hands busy. “Kids aren’t easy to deal with, and they’re certainly… different.”

Yukiko-san shoots him a look. “Different from?”

“My father,” Ryoken shrugs like saying it out loud doesn’t make a difference for him, but something inside him, despite how used he is to talking about him during his sessions still recoils, telling him that he shouldn’t be acknowledging these things out loud. He’s working on making it go away. “They are dynamic; they never stop jumping or screaming or running and they’re really loud. It’s… I’m still getting used to it, but it doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.”

“Are they a distraction?” She suggests, nodding at him, her pen moving over her notebook. She has a recorder, of course, but there’s something soothing about the sound of pen and paper.

“I guess they are, in a way. It’s impossible to focus on anything other than them,” Ryoken pauses, staring at the coffee table and thinking over his words. “I can’t really think of the… _events_ of last year in much detail when they’re around.”

“Do you think that’s a good or bad thing?”

Ryoken takes a deep breath, shrugging again. “A good thing. I’m not investing time in overthinking decisions I already took when a dozen children require my attention at the same time.”

Yukiko-san’s lips twitch like she wants to smile at how Ryoken pointed out the obvious, but remains neutral. He honestly wouldn’t have minded if she had called him out on his bad habit of coming up with _‘what if’_ scenarios.

“Do you overthink at home, then?” She asks, stretching out her hand to have another drink of her cup, taking notice of the way Ryoken snorts at the question with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t imagine you have much else to do.”

“I don’t. Spectre gets me books but I go through them way too fast. He won’t let me do much work in the garden either, not until we have a set plan,” Ryoken stops, perhaps a bit too suddenly, and Yukiko-san makes it a point to gesture at him to drink some milk. Ryoken takes a deep breath before following suit, and she gives him some time to get his thoughts back in order, chewing patiently on her cookie. “It’s boring, mostly, but the house… it’s too big and too quiet, so my mind wanders. And my father…”

Ryoken stares down at the half-eaten cookie in his hand and then at his milk, sighing. He’s starting to feel a bit nauseous, but he brings both of them up to eat them anyways, feeling his nerves settle just a bit. He has always depended on sweets when he’s anxious. “His face and his name are everywhere. I never even noticed that before, but up the stairs and in half of the hallways, the bookshelves— he’s there. His things are there, too, because I never got rid of them. His office is intact.”

Yukiko-san nods along to his words, her expression grim, but she offers Ryoken an encouraging smile.

“That’s normal, Ryoken. You grieved him for about half of the time you were imprisoned, and you are still grieving him now,” Yukiko-san’s voice is soft and calm, as well as confident, much like it’s always is. Ryoken never fails to find reassurance on it, even if it makes a part of him hesitate to welcome it. “What is it about his things that make you uneasy?”

“He was so proud of himself,” he mumbles, then clears his throat and sits up in his chair, staring at the cookie in his hand. “Literally every achievement he’s ever had is everywhere but there’s nothing else. It’s like it’s all he’s ever had, even though he had a family, he was married— he had me. And it’s jarring to see all of those accomplishments because, in the end, he was wrong. He messed up and couldn’t recognize it, or never bothered to fix it.”

Yukiko-san waits a few seconds, making sure Ryoken is not preparing to say more, and then speaks up, still soothing, her eyes locking with his own and her empathy and intellect shining through.

“We have talked about your father’s idea of success before, I believe?” Yukiko-san gestures at her notebook but doesn’t actually read through her notes. Ryoken almost wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of her having to make that exclusively for him, instead of using just her recording system and taking notes about the session afterward. “He thought very highly of himself, so much that he… did what he did, and apparently decorated your home accordingly. Do you think having all of that pretty much shoved in your face is what’s making you overthink things again?”

Ryoken shifts in his chair, swallowing. “Maybe. I just can’t help but think about whether he would approve of what I’m doing right now, and the answer is almost never a no, he wouldn’t. It’s starting to even make me even unable to sleep. I wake up at four a.m. every single day since after my second day back.”

“What do you think you should do about it?” Yukiko-san sounds genuinely interested, leaning in to give him her undivided attention. “It’s like I’ve said before; if something makes you uncomfortable, you do something about it. What should it be?”

Ryoken thinks about it for a few minutes, munching quietly on a cookie and trying not to get upset at the question. Yukiko-san knows what she’s doing all the time, pushing him to find out the answer for himself because she knows how smart he is. He doesn’t want to let her down.

“I think I would like to take them down,” Ryoken eventually whispers, staring at the floor. Yukiko-san makes a sound that he now knows means he should explain himself further, so he speaks up. “I don’t think those diplomas and awards deserve to be on a wall. He lost the right to be proud of his work the moment he turned it on children, and he made it even worse when he decided to not follow basic statistics.”

“Have you thought about remodeling your house entirely?”

The question brings Ryoken’s thoughts to a halt. His childhood home has always been a place he’s mostly associated with solitude, sitting by himself somewhere doing this or that to entertain himself, and later, to research how to take care of people stuck in comas and how to reconstruct a mind in a network system. When he thinks of home, he usually thinks of Stardust Road, and his house atop the hill only reminds him of pain, loneliness, and countless hours he will never recover taking care of his father.

There’s warmth there, from the early years before the Hanoi Project. But it is fleeting, small, difficult to remember and easy to forget in the face of everything else that has happened in that place since. Ryoken can’t look at a wall without facing his father’s hypocrisy, and he can’t sit on the living room without it smelling like a hospital room. The only safe places are his bedroom and the garden Spectre is working on, perhaps the kitchen as well, and he’s getting sick of cowering to no one inside his own house.

“I wouldn’t know where to start, or how fall I should go,” Ryoken confesses, because it’s true. Should he repaint the walls? Retile the floor? Build more walls or take some down? How far can he go before the place actually starts feeling like an actual home? Will it _ever_ feel like that? Yukiko-san’s expression doesn’t change, but she nods like she gets where he’s coming from. That house is so big, and yet it’s so empty. “Taking down his stuff, though… I really want to do that.”

“Start there, then, and see what Spectre can do to help. Perhaps he has a recommendation or a preference— you’re helping him rebuild the garden, after all,” she smiles at him, softly, and Ryoken finds the idea of redecorating with him as funny as it might be cathartic. While Spectre wasn’t particularly emotional about the place, he probably wouldn’t be against something that looks more like it may house his magnificent garden. “I loved those concepts you sketched out for the patio— tell me, have you started drawing more often?”

The subtle change of subject has him taking a deep breath. Yukiko-san has a way of tackling issues with simple solutions like this all the time so she can guide her patients into improving their environment and focus on the psychological issues instead, looking to help fill every crack she finds in their hearts and minds. He doesn’t know if this is usually effective for everyone, but it’s done wonders for his overthinking— instead of pouring over a problem for days on end, Yukiko-san helps him come up with several solutions and tells him to stick with one, all to make it easier for him to readapt.

“I haven’t actually,” Ryoken admits, shooting her an embarrassed smile. “I don’t really see the point in doing it.”

“Well, I thought you may have been able to get some fun out it,” Yukiko-san gestures for him to take another cookie, and Ryoken takes two. “Have you considered going back to any of your other hobbies? You told me you used to play music, swim— you were a really active kid in that regard, before the incident.”

Ryoken shrugs, feeling a bit helpless. “I don’t know, I just… haven’t found a reason to get into them again. Also, I don’t really know if I’m allowed to go down to the beach, even if it’s technically still inside the limits of my home. I’d have to ask.”

Yukiko-san hums, writes something down, and then looks at him dead in the eye. “Ryoken, have you ever thought that you don’t need a reason to do something other than _‘I have fun doing it’_?”

The question takes him completely off guard, and his immediate thought is that that’s a stupid reason. Then, his mind catches up to the rest of the conversation, and realization dawns on him. “Oh.”

Yukiko-san nods, offering him an amused smile. “Indeed. You need to work on that, Ryoken. You stopped having hobbies because there were other things you were worried about and you were a really, _really_ busy kid. But it might be good for you to take them up again if anything to entertain yourself. That could even help you distract yourself from overthinking or warmth you up to the house. You see where this is coming from, right?”

“Yeah,” Ryoken frowns, then eats a cookie in one bite. Yukiko-san is unimpressed. “Is this homework?”

“No, Ryoken,” Yukiko-san actually chuckles at that idea, shaking her head. Ryoken feels a bit like he’s being an idiot but she won’t say it to spare his feelings. “Don’t think about it as homework. Don’t think about it at all. Just try it, ok?”

The thought is daunting. Ryoken doesn’t do things _just because._ The last time he did anything for fun was a few years back when he was bored and decided to release a few fake copies of ultra-rare items in Link VRAINS for people to go nuts over. They never found the culprit, of course, but a few accounts were suspended. Chaos is fun when it’s controlled.

Ryoken agrees to try something out and spends the ten minutes of time with her he has left to talk about what he’ll be doing tomorrow at the orphanage and when he gets his free day on Sunday, then helps her pick up the dishes when her phone announces the session is over. Nakamura-san is talking on the phone when they return to the living room and hangs up just in time for Yukiko-san to hand each of them a bag of leftover cookies with a smile and a warning to make them last.

“Hamasaki, I swear your baking will kill me one day and I’ll be happy when that happens,” Nakamura-san winks at her, and Yukiko-san goes pink up to her hairline, stifling a chuckle and shaking her head. Ryoken narrows his eyes at them and decides that he’s going to bleach this memory from his mind later. “Did he give you any problem?”

Yukiko-san raises her eyebrows like that’s an understatement, but shoots Ryoken a fond look. “Not more than usual. Please, Nakamura-san, make sure he actually does anything other than brood.”

“Don’t worry—”

“I don’t believe that’s part of your job description,” Ryoken interjects, looking at them both with no little amount of judgment in his gaze. Nakamura-san points at him and rolls his eyes like he can’t believe what he’s saying, and Yukiko-san _giggles_. Ugh. “Can we leave?”

“Don’t be rude to your doctor, Kogami-kun,” Nakamura-san sets a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head and being more amused that he has any right to be. He guides him to the door and Yukiko-san follows behind, not moving a finger to defend him. “See you next week, doctor. A pleasure to see you, as always.”

“Likewise,” Yukiko-san is the one to wink this time, shooting Nakamura-san a coy smile, and Ryoken tries his best to not gag. When her gaze shifts to him, though, it becomes sharp, and he suddenly feels threatened, shifting his expression into something more pleasant. The way her eyebrows raise tells him she’s not fooled. “Remember what we talked about today, please. Spectre is also there to help.”

“Yeah,” Ryoken agrees, but it’s reluctant at best. “See you next week, Yukiko-san.”

Nakamura-san sighs like a lovesick teenager the second the door closes behind them, and Ryoken shoots him a knowing look that he blushes under and even makes him mumble something about him not understanding his seniors. Ryoken rolls his eyes at it behind his back, but enjoys the car ride back to his home with him simply because he’s always been able to read Ryoken’s mood and knows when he’s willing to talk and when he’s not. Right now, all he wants is to take a nap or finish that book about botany that Spectre got him yesterday, since he doesn’t want to overthink what hobby he will be picking up. There are so many things he’s not sure he knows how to do anymore, like tuning a violin or even properly play the piano. It’s a miracle he still remembers how to decently draw after a few years without giving it any practice.

Nakamura-san drops him off in the driveway with a kind smile and a reminder to do whatever Yukiko-san told him he should do, which Ryoken ignores in favor of making sure he didn’t steal his cookies when he wasn’t looking and saying his own goodbyes. It’s barely four-thirty p.m.; the sun isn’t even beginning to set quite yet and he’s hungry despite the fact that he ate most of Yukiko-san’s cookie plate on his own, so when he opens the door and hears noises coming from the kitchen he feels incredibly grateful to have Spectre around, he truly is a wonderful friend, the best he could ask for—

Spectre is not in the kitchen.

Instead, a distinctly familiar boy with a Den City High School uniform and white-and-red hair stands in front of his electric stove, trying to figure out how to turn it on while holding a pot full of water with one of his hands. The uniform jacket is thrown over the counter with no consideration whatsoever for the people that eat there and that have to clean it and he’s mumbling under his breath, oblivious to the world around him.

“Excuse me,” Ryoken calls, and promptly scares the shit out of Homura Takeru, who turns like he’s been burned and almost drops the pot to the floor when he sets his eyes on Ryoken. He speaks no other words, trying to work out what he’s feeling at this surprise appearance and home invasion, but it’s impossible to distinguish anything over the sound of the alarm bells in his brain and the part of his that’s just _itching_ to get that jacket off the counter.

“Uh,” Homura Takeru says, showing off just how capable of quick thinking he is, and looks off to the side awkwardly, as if he’s waiting for something to get him out of this situation. Spectre doesn’t magically appear from wherever he’s hiding, probably watching this and thinking it’s hilarious. “Welcome home?”

Ryoken closes his eyes and presses his free hand against his face, leaning on the doorway and sighing deep from within his chest.

He can already tell he’s going to need an extra hour of therapy just from this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [narrator voice]: and at that moment, takeru realized- he fucked up.


	4. painful chase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chanting] update time, update time, updATE TIME, UPDATE TIME

“Look,” Ryoken starts, trying really hard not to raise his voice and almost cringing at how that makes it crack, his throat dry. “I don’t know why you’re here, but—”

“Spectre invited me,” Homura interrupts, and Ryoken lets his hand fall from his face just to glare at him. Homura doesn’t cower under the look, but he does wince, setting the pot down _on_ the counter right next to his jacket, holy shit, there's no respect for his cleaning or security.“We thought you were going to be back later.”

Ryoken cares very little about what they thought. He cares about what he’s supposed to _do_ now. He’s not equipped to deal with this; Ryoken had seen Homura Takeru from afar during the trials and he used to act like a thug and was angrier than Playmaker himself, which is why he avoided him like the plague, but now he seemed like a pleasant boy-next-door, with green-rimmed glasses and awkwardness running through his body like he also felt that this situation could lead to one or both of them spontaneously combusting. No, Ryoken doesn't think he's being dramatic.

Ryoken decides that the fact that he's not immediately trying to punch him is probably a good sign, but still. He doesn’t want to be a judge of character when he feels like something is going to go spectacularly wrong any second now. “Where’s Spectre?”

Homura gestures vaguely towards where he’s standing, probably meaning to point to the entrance of the house, looking like he’s regretting every second of this interaction just as much as Ryoken is. “We’re working on a project and he realized we were short on supplies, so he left to get them.”

Ryoken takes a deep breath at the words, nodding, and then promptly takes Homura’s jacket off the counter and walks back to the entrance of the house to hang it on the closet they have right next to the front door. Homura protests this, slightly, like he's not sure what the fuck he's doing, but thankfully doesn’t follow, so Ryoken is able to get in, close the door behind him, and lean on it for a few seconds, trying to calm down the way his heart is racing.

What was Spectre thinking, bringing him here? Ryoken has to admit he’s been optimistic about his progress with Yukiko-san, but he is not ready for a full-on confrontation with another victim of the Hanoi Project. He’s read all he could find on them back when Hanoi was still a thing, so he knows the basics of Homura Takeru’s life: his parents died in an accident looking for him, he was being raised by his grandparents, he spent more time out in the street getting in trouble than in school as a way to deal with his trauma from the incident.

Ryoken runs a hand through his hair and realizes with little to no surprise that his hands are shaking. 

He has to admit that this is mostly due to the shock of just coming across him in his kitchen and not really about their past itself. Ryoken doesn’t _know_ Homura, but he knows the hardships that his father and his assistants caused to develop in his life, and he knows that if he had called the police a few months, weeks, perhaps even days earlier, his parents probably wouldn’t be dead. But Ryoken’s also aware that there’s nothing he can do about it and he’s made his peace with it— kind of. He could be doing better.

Ryoken tries to think of Yukiko-san’s advice about fixing what makes him uncomfortable, focusing on his breathing and closing his eyes. Unavoidably, Ryoken finds himself fidgeting with the light switch, turning it on and off three times and relaxing with every _‘click!’_ until he’s able to think straight again and goes about actually hanging Homura’s jacket, taking as much time as he can afford to linger.

He doesn’t feel any more ready to face the situation when he comes out of the closet. His appetite is completely gone and he all but drags his feet towards the kitchen, trying to think of any words to say and coming up empty. Homura is sitting down and leaning on the counter when he steps in, holding a glass of water between his hands and looking down at it like it holds the answers to the universe, and Ryoken wishes it did, because it could at least give them something to talk about other than the elephant in the room.

He looks up at the sound of Ryoken approaching and his face morphs into something serious, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling in concentration as his glasses slide down his nose until they're almost at the tip of it, which bothers Ryoken to no end. He kind of wants to aggressively push them into place.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying, failing to ignore what he doesn't want to address. It's better this way, because he'll get a chance to tell him all he wants and needs to at once instead of letting it build and sour his life. Homura actually flinches from the words, staring at him in confusion, and it immediately makes him chicken out, so Ryoken rushes to offer an explanation. “I should be a better host.”

Homura looks lat him like he doesn’t believe that’s what Ryoken is apologizing for at all, and he can't blame him.

“It’s fine,” Homura runs a nervous hand through his hand, struggling to maintain eye contact and fidgeting with his glasses. He doesn't actually fix them, instead offering Ryoken a nervous smile, and it makes him hold back an exasperated sigh. “I should be apologizing for intruding in your home.”

Ryoken shrugs and, already feeling dread, sits down in front of him. “Spectre invited you. And you’ve clearly been here more often than I have in the last ten months.”

Homura seems to cringe a bit at himself at that. “Spectre got tired of going to my rental. It’s too small for him to, uh, I believe he said _‘flourish._ ’”

Ryoken snorts, fighting back a grin and tapping his fingers against the counter in sets of three, making a three seconds pause in between them.

“That sounds like him,” he nods, looks down at the table and struggles to come up with anything beyond that, his mind going frighteningly quiet. Homura waits, sensing that he might have something else to say, but Ryoken just shakes his head. At the very least, this is coming along in a civilized manner. Ryoken wouldn’t be able to handle screaming right now.

Homura visibly swallows, looks down at his water, and then up at Ryoken with that same grim expression from before, hesitating only once before speaking up. “Thank you.”

Ryoken opens his mouth, frowning in confusion, but Homura interrupts him. “Listen, Spectre told me you wouldn’t want to hear this at all but— thank you. For everything you did. He said you’re not proud of anything and I can see why, because they were pretty much your family but—”

Homura seems to choke a little on his words, and a knot forms in the pit of Ryoken’s stomach, threatening to crawl its way to his throat. But he doesn’t interrupt him, once again incapable of formulating any words.

“—all you did made a great deal for me and for everyone. I know you probably regret it from what Spectre’s said to me about you, but I want you to know I don’t blame you for anything. I may have before I knew the details and during the trials, but now… I just needed to thank you for saving us again. Just this once.”

Homura rubs his fingers against his eyes and Ryoken sits there, frozen and feeling something inside him, deep in his chest, shake with his emotions threatening to get the best of him. He doesn’t allow for that to happen, though, and turns away from Homura, his nails digging into his skin from how hard he’s clenching his fists. 

Ryoken gives Homura a few seconds to get himself under control, a headache starting to form and making him take a deep, measured breath. He stares at the kitchen’s light switch and itches to go check it; starts tapping his nails against the counter again instead, and clears his throat once he’s confident enough to speak up.

“I don’t regret it,” his words are barely above a whisper, way too rough and giving away how much restraint he’s exerting over his emotions. Homura makes eye contact, his glasses off and his eyes a little red and wide with surprise, but Ryoken is glad to see no trace of tears. He’s dealt, terrified out of his mind, with children crying, but he can’t deal with someone so intimately linked to him doing so. “I used to regret it, every single day. And by that, I mean both instances of calling the police.”

Ryoken pauses, breaking eye contact for a second, and appreciates how Homura waits, anxious and fidgeting in his seat but trying his best to let him express himself.

“I don’t regret it anymore, or at least I don’t think I do. The first time it took my father away from me and left me alone for years, making me have to take care of him when I finally got him back to make sure he was able to accomplish his plans. The second time I handed over everyone who I like to think has ever cared about me without even asking about it and threw away everything I’ve been taught since I was a child,” Ryoken’s words come out harsher the more he speaks, bitterness curling his voice, but he bites his tongue, measures the way Homura’s shoulders rise as if he’s preparing himself for a fight purely out of instinct, like he’s thinking about all the harm his family’s done to his own, and then allows himself to continue. He’s not trying to defend them, and he thinks Homura might be clever enough to see that if he looks closely and pays attention to him. “But they were wrong. My father made a mistake that I wouldn’t have found out about if I hasn’t tried to— to help Playmaker get away. I see that now, and I’m dealing with the decision I made. I’m not blind to his will anymore.”

Homura opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a muted _‘whoa’_ like he can’t believe what he just heard and is struggling to process it, to assimilate the information. Ryoken can’t stand being in his seat anymore, and decides to grab the pot of water that Homura was trying to heat earlier, turning on the stove without any hiccups. He notices the tea leaves on the counter, Spectre’s favorite, and wonders just how close he really is to Homura.

“Oh,” Homura says behind him, and Ryoken feels his eyes on the back of his neck, prickling like needles. He sounds like he’s out of his depth, which Ryoken thinks is fair; standing here, with a victim of his father’s crimes after spending ten months in jail for his own, feels like he’s having an out of body experience. “So that’s how you turn that on.”

Ryoken can’t help to allow himself to snort. “It’s not that complicated.”

“Hey, I’m not good at tech stuff,” Homura admits, sounding like he might be smiling, but Ryoken doesn't turn to look at it, focusing on the water. "It's hard for me."

“It’s a stove,” Ryoken allows a teasing edge to invade his voice, but he still feels unbalanced, out of touch. One of his hands shake, but Homura doesn’t seem to notice. “Do you still have a gas stove at home?”

“They’re incredibly useful!”

“Sure, but I doubt a Den City rental has a gas stove—”

“Dude, it’s like a communal building, I can barely work the microwave,” Homura sighs like he’s had this conversation at least a thousand times over with several different people, and a clear image of Spectre doing exactly the same kind of teasing pops uninvited in his head. 

Ryoken blinks it away because Spectre being domestic with someone else is weird. “Ah, so you’re also a fire hazard.”

Homura chokes on air. Ryoken would have been worried about it if he hasn’t had to pick up his jacket from the counter earlier. This was payback, but it would be rude to allow his guest to choke for too long, so Ryoken reaches over and pats his back, trying not to feel too awkward about it and internally cringing at himself. Fuck, what is he doing?

Making tea.

Ryoken looks back at the pot and takes a deep breath, tapping his fingers against the counter. Homura keeps quiet and Ryoken allows himself to drift off and run his speech around his head, trying to process the words and really let them sink in for the sake of not just locking them away as if he’s done and over with the feelings they bring him. This is the kind of stuff Yukiko-san thrives in.

He doesn’t want to forget this, or ignore it, or to push it away. No one has ever thanked him for anything except for Spectre, and that was difficult enough to process as a child, never mind now. Ryoken doesn’t think he’s done many good things in life, or at least he hasn’t meant for them to be good things, and even then a lot of them were accidents and he regretted them for years, but the image of Homura’s eyes and the sounds of his honesty make him feel like there’s a weight that’s been lifted off his shoulders, if at least for a little while. He’ll appreciate his effort for a long time, if he ever stops doing so. Ryoken counts to three in his head, turns off the stove once the water has boiled, and goes about finishing up the tea, setting one of the cups down in front of Homura and holding his own between his hands like a lifeline, for once allowing himself to genuinely accept the compliments towards his character.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, hoping that it doesn’t come off as strange— but when he meets his eyes, Homura just nods, shooting him the tiniest smile and then breaking eye contact, bringing his cup up to his lips. Ryoken decides to not say anything else about the subject from now on unless prompted. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Homura’s grin turns a bit sheepish. “That was the plan? And, well... also overnight?”

The words make Ryoken pause halfway through bringing his tea up to his mouth and frown, though it’s not directed at Homura. In fact, he’s thinking about Spectre inviting him over to dinner without telling him anything or giving him any warning, and realizes with a strange calm that this meeting was probably planned, and that Spectre meant for him to meet Homura once way or another. He debates whether he should feel angry or at the very least offended, but he doesn’t have the stamina for it right now. Later, though— Spectre owes him an explanation.

“Alright, then. Do you have a preference for dinner?” Ryoken asks, and it seems to throw Homura for a loop; he opens and closes his mouth before he hesitantly answers that he eats just about anything, but when Ryoken is about to ask him to specify for something – he’s run out of ideas for meals himself already; he needs some take-out food with urgency because being healthy and eating home-cooked meals got boring surprisingly fast; he needs a cheat day – the front door open and closes and the sounds of Spectre taking off his shoes and humming off-tune reaches his ears.

Ryoken exchanges one look with Homura Takeru, catches his nervous smile, and decides that he can speak to Spectre about this after he’s gone. No need to make him witness Ryoken having a small breakdown— again. Running off to a closet wasn't probably a good first impression.

Spectre pauses when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes immediately catching on Ryoken’s figure and then drifting towards Homura like he has no idea what’s happening. It’s not a good look on him at all, and Ryoken makes sure to let him know this by crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. They hold eye contact for a few seconds in which Homura starts to fidget, probably confused at what’s happening, but in the end Ryoken just shrugs and sighs.

“Alright,” he says, which only makes Homura even more confused. “You could have at least warned me you were going out and leaving me with baggage.”

Spectre tilts his head to the side and hums, a perfect picture of innocence. “Hm, I didn’t even know I was going out. What’s for dinner?”

Ryoken throws his hands up in the hair and grabs his mug, downing the rest of the tea with one big gulp. He would have liked to make a dramatic exit right after that to signal that he doesn’t give a shit, but he doesn’t like leaving dirty dishes around the counter, so he washes his mug and then narrows his eyes at Spectre.

“You can figure out dinner. I’m going to take a shower.”

Spectre nods and then snaps his head towards Homura, who almost falls off his seat with how sudden the movement is. “Does take-out sound good?”

It immediately sets off red alarms inside his head that Spectre is willing to pay food money for Homura, but he ignores it. He has no idea how long _this_ has been going on and he most definitely doesn’t want to know. 

“You know, I’m sure I told you not to drag me into your weird plans again several times,” Homura answers, clearly not getting that there’s no way to not be involved in any of Spectre’s plans. He’s tried a lot. “And yeah, take out sounds nice.”

“No hotdogs,” Ryoken mumbles, which makes both of them look at him as if he just grew a second head. Ryoken stares back. “What? It’s still my money. Get yours at eighteen.”

Spectre opens his mouth, closes it, and frowns. “It’s not like _I_ wanted hotdogs anyways.”

Ryoken snorts, but Homura speaks up, sounding like he’s already exhausted of this conversation. “I mean, I could have some.”

Ryoken shoots him a dirty look that’s immediately reciprocated and shrugs, heading out of the kitchen with a pace as normal as he can hold and then all but legs it up the stairs until he’s at the top of the first floor, where the bedrooms are. He debated locking himself in a nearby closet again but settles for burying his face in his hands and groaning, wishing he could scream instead. Sudden exhaustion weights down on him, and he wants nothing more than to fall face-first on his bed and stay there forever.

God, kids are kind of the worse. Therapy, after working with kids, and then getting practically hit over the head with more complicated feelings definitely wins it out, though. It's been a long day.

Ryoken sighs and makes his way to his bedroom, already daydreaming about taking a shower – he did not miss the communal bathroom in jail, that’s for sure –already planning to linger in his bedroom and avoid Homura as much as possible for the rest of the night. It wasn’t a nice thing to do, but Ryoken doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to face more than one Lost Incident victim at a time.

Ryoken opens his bedroom door, closes it behind him, and only notices something is amiss when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye and hears a little choked off gasp. He freezes, his whole body tensing and his breath getting caught his throat, and squeezes his eyes tightly before turning towards the familiar sound.

The sight of Fujiki Yusaku almost tripping over his own feet while taking an apparently shocked step back into his private bathroom greets him, and Ryoken feels how he metaphorically shits himself, how the blood freezes in his veins and his heart starts pounding. It makes his whole body tense like a string pulled too tight, something in his chest tightening when he meets Fujiki’s eyes, vibrant green widening in both surprise and embarrassment.

Ryoken stares for about ten seconds and reaches the conclusion that he’s _finally_ gone mad. He had a suspicion it was in his blood all along. His father was fucking insane, after all.

“Ok,” he starts, burying his face in his hands and squeezing his eyes shut, his emotions seemingly fighting with each other to determine what his reaction to this will be and coming to no result. When he looks up again he expects what he can only call a pipe dream to be gone, but Fujiki is still standing there, looking at him from head to toe like _Ryoken_ is the one that shouldn’t be standing at his door, like _he’s_ the hallucination. Fuck, he is _not_ prepared for this shit. “Ok, this is…”

Ryoken has no idea how to deal with this. He fully believes he’s gone crazy, but as the seconds pass and Fujiki just stands there, hands behind his back like he’s hiding something and not shouting accusations and insults at him as he does in his nightmares, he starts to notice how different he looks from when he last saw him in a way he couldn’t have made up. First off, he isn’t as pale as he remembers, and even stands a bit taller— well, Ryoken can’t really tell this; he also got taller in prison, but the fact that Yusaku’s jeans barely reach his ankles says a lot. He seems more awake as well, no dark circles under his eyes and dropped shoulders that indicate he’s currently not trying to seek revenge for his ruined life. Any stiffness seems to come from the awkwardness of the situation.

The changes throw him for a loop, of course, but the one he can’t help but fixate on the most is that he’s looking far more beautiful than ever, his face a bit more filled out and full of color. That color perhaps comes from the fact that they’ve been staring at each other for more than a couple of minutes now and it’s getting weird, but even then, Ryoken hesitates to be the first to talk, and has to gather his courage. His voice breaks as soon as he opens his mouth, and he clears his throat before trying again.

“Did you… break into my house?” He asks, and Yusaku’s face goes pinker, his shoulders rising defensively. Oh, _oh,_ Ryoken is _not_ ready for this. He’d like to go back to screaming kids and drooling babies, thanks. “ _Am I hallucinating? ”_

Fujiki has the nerve to look offended at the question. “Well, it was _easy._ ”

 _“Why?”_ Ryoken successfully resists the urge to pull at his hair, but only barely so.

“I wanted to see you.”

 _God,_ Ryoken thinks, barely keeping himself from pinching his arm, _this can’t be real._ How can Fujiki break into his house, that’s being monitored by police cameras and protected by high-end security mechanisms, _just_ to see him? The idea is laughable, though perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised; his constant letters should have been taken as a warning sign.

“Eh, Yusaku-chan, I think we broke him,” a familiar voice says, and Fujiki goes even more tense, narrowing his eyes as he brings one of his wrists up. Ryoken follows the movement, recognizes the Duel Disk, and almost wants to scream. _Of course,_ the Dark Ignis is with him. Of course. Why _wouldn’t_ it be? Why did he assume he could get a break today?

“Ryoken,” Yusaku says, voice as serious as he remembers, and somehow the use of his first name doesn’t strike him as odd. He’s still blunt as ever, that much hasn’t changed, and Ryoken’s almost glad for it. Fujiki takes a step closer and Ryoken can’t help but take one back; he wonders vaguely if he looks like he’s seen a ghost. He certainly feels like it. The look that flashes across Fujiki’s eyes at this makes him feel like he’s choking, and he ends up hesitating, clenching his fists and looking towards his desk— no, at the picture frame resting face down that he hasn’t been brave enough to straighten up. “You were a cute kid.”

It’s obvious he saw it, and Ryoken doesn’t know how to feel about it. He remembers hiding the frame as a kid on the deepest corner of his wardrobe as if it was some dirty secret that he ever had a mother – one that he barely remembers, that is – and he only found it recently while trying to clean up the ten months of dust that had gathered in the house, still face down and buried in the same place he hid it in years ago. He had to get Spectre to take it out for him because he refused to touch it, and instead of taking it away, he just left it on his desk.

Something inside him twists again, makes his hands shake and his breath turns into a wheeze for a second before he’s sitting down on the edge on his bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and running his hands through his face again, trying to calm down as to not have a breakdown in front of his former rival, or to fall into that pit of misdirected anger and self-loathing that his painfully slow improvement has taught him to deal with.

Ryoken and Fujiki are both clearly shit at reunions. 

Ryoken answers his comment automatically, trying to not shut down and go through this as smoothly as he can, not eager for conflict or to suddenly ditch the growth he's made. “Thank you. You too.”

Oh, well. That second part wasn’t supposed to get out, but his brain to mouth filter is clearly useless right now, and honest compliments can't kill, as far as he's aware. Fujiki blinks and looks away awkwardly, color rising steadily on his cheeks like he’s never seen before, so Ryoken swallows, staring at him with what he refuses to admit is awe, only to then try and save himself by elaborating.

“I always liked pink, so, your hair…” he starts, gesturing towards the pink accent wall behind him, but drifts off as soon as Fujiki makes a slightly confused yet panicked expression, like he doesn't know how to react to that. Ryoken clears his throat and immediately shifts gears. “How did you break in?”

At this, Fujiki's shoulders seem to relax, so noticeably and fast that the movement seems almost violent. “Oh, I hacked into the entrance's security camera feeds for a few minutes. Ai helped me out."

“And I expect a proper _'thank you!’_ ” The Dark Ignis chimes in, blinking up at Ryoken with curiosity. Seeing it makes something ugly curl inside him, something he doesn’t want to examine right now, but it makes him want to go through at least three more hours of therapy. “So, Revolver-chan, _gun-boy_ , are you a hardened criminal now?”

Fujiki makes a sound so full of frustration that Ryoken internally cringes at how vicious it is. “Ai, _don’t_ start—”

“You told me he wouldn’t try to kill me!”

“I shouldn’t have brought you with me. You’re staying with Roboppi next time—”

“How did you get in through the front door?” Ryoken asks, interrupting what seemed to be on its way to becoming an argument he didn’t want to hear, and he didn’t want to address the Ignis’ question or the fact that Fujiki was already expecting it to be a _‘next time'._ He could sense a headache coming and he was not appreciating it. “It has like five different electronic locks.”

“I just did,” Yusaku looks back at him and shrugs, any anger evaporating into thin air, and the Ignis on his wrist nods firmly, somehow grinning without a mouth. Ryoken adverts his eyes immediately. Better to just look at Yusaku’s pretty face instead. “Also, Spectre helped me.”

Ah, Spectre. How fucking ominous. “Of course he did.”

Silence grows in between them, strange, unfamiliar and creating a gap in between their feebles attempts at conversation and what should come next. Ryoken has never felt like there was something like this between them; in his mind, they have always been two faces of the same coin, prisoners of their own destiny and as such locked into an endless struggle with each other, somehow understanding the other without problem or hesitation or even words— but that was ten months ago, when Ryoken could barely look at himself in the mirror without feeling disgusted and was helpless to do anything about it because of his promises to his father. His father, who is now dead because of him.

But no, Ryoken will not get into that. He can’t think like that anymore. He promised himself he wouldn’t. He has learned things that make it impossible for him to think like that and mean it. He must stick to it, for his own sake and, frankly, to not feel like he’s wasting Yukiko-san’s time.

“I…” Fujiki starts, hesitation making his voice sound delicate, soft, the way Ryoken imagines it’s been for quite some time. The lack of underlying anger and pain is refreshing, if new. He looks as uncomfortable as Ryoken feels, and it occurs to him that this is probably already the longest time they’ve been in each other’s presence without their avatars or some degree of screaming ever, which is probably the main reason it feels so… awkward. “It’s been a while.”

“Ten months,” Ryoken nods, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Ten months. Ryoken was gone for _ten months._ He didn’t get anything from Fujiki other than letters made up of three pages every week, didn’t look at the bioluminescent lights of Stardust Road, and didn’t have his regular at Café Nagi for ten whole months. 

Fujiki’s eyes drift all over his frame again, lingering in some places like he can’t quite believe this is Ryoken he’s talking to, and when he talks next he sounds a bit embarrassed. “I wanted to talk to you privately.”

“I figured you would want that.” Ryoken looks around his room for something to latch onto in hopes of avoiding this conversation for as long as he can, because he genuinely feels like he’s not ready to address… everything, at least not quite yet. He’d like to relax, have a few minutes, take a shower because maybe that will help him feel better than he is right now. He can already tell he's not going to sleep a wink tonight. His eyes lock on his desk drawer and he stares for a few seconds, works coming out of his mouth without much thought. “How’s your skateboarding going?”

He almost chokes right after saying it, biting his tongue and narrowing his eyes at himself. He might as well have said that he read all the letters, and he doesn’t know if it’s that detail or the idea that Ryoken cares enough to ask what makes Fujiki brighten up, his eyes shining like emeralds.

“I almost broke my wrist yesterday,” Fujiki says, uncharacteristically cheerful, and Ryoken feels all blood drain from his face. He shrugs, apparently not thinking much of it, and goes back to hiding his arm behind his back, the Ignis gone from sight. “And I had to replace my wheels three times last months. I can’t trust the thrift store anymore.”

At that, Ryoken almost smiles but catches himself. He feels like he needs to lay down, dizzy and overwhelmed, and Fujiki also looks like he could use a few minutes to just _process_ the sight of him. Ryoken is very well aware he looks different— taller, less sickly tired, strong and probably far less aggressive than before, thanks to having ten months to grieve not only his father but the person he was trying to be for him. He has no intention of ever touching that alien faced avatar ever again, if he ever has the chance. He would take a new one a million times over the old Revolver, who didn’t approve of his father’s useless lackeys and his crazy network-wide destructive plans but never dared to speak against them out loud. He was a coward through and through, and Ryoken wants nothing to do with that anymore, even if he’ll keep carrying the burden of those mistakes.

Perhaps that was his biggest regret to this day: he never actually stood up for his own beliefs in front of his father. He only acted once he wasn’t around, literally seconds after he realized the old man was gone for good and the Tower that he worked so much on was crumbling to pieces. But things couldn’t be changed, and he isn’t one to dwell on the past like that— at least not anymore.

Yukiko-san is going to have a really good day when he tells her about this.

“Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere,” Ryoken tries not to sound like he’s out of it, despite feeling like he is, but Fujiki only blinks at him, squirming on his own two feet like he has no idea what to do either. Ryoken stands up and walks the room’s entrance, then holds the door open for him, stifling a sigh. “Sorry, I just got back from therapy. I was… not expecting this. I need a minute.”

Fujiki’s whole face falls almost unnoticeably, and Ryoken instantly regrets saying anything. “Oh, I had no idea. I could leave—”

“It’s fine.” Ryoken shakes his head, trying to keep his voice steady. He hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s begging him to stay; the idea of Fujiki leaving just because he’s a bit tired and overwhelmed is somehow terrifying for him, and that the thought scares him makes him feel like he’s aged ten years instead of ten months since he last saw him. “I’m just going to take a shower and meet you downstairs. We can talk after dinner, since Homura is staying. I’m guessing you know your way around?”

Fujiki nods and hesitates before stepping forwards, glancing at his desk one last time – Ryoken will have to be brave and touch the frame just to hide it – before he comes closer. He stops right under that doorway to look at him in the eye, so they are both standing really close while staring at each other for about three seconds. Fujiki only breaks his gaze when the Dark Ignis clear its throat very obnoxiously from behind his back, and that’s when Ryoken notices he’s been holding something this whole time.

“I brought you a welcome gift,” Fujiki states, his voice a bit louder than it needs to be, probably in an attempt to hide his embarrassment over it. There’s no hiding how fast color rises to his cheeks, though, or the way he’s struggling to look at him in the eye, but Ryoken himself as to lean against the doorway in a display of what he can only call weakness caused by a strange feeling in his chest. “It’s not much, but… Spectre said you liked them.”

Then Fujiki brings his other hand up, pushes a brown paper bag at him, and stares at the point of contact of his hand against his chest until Ryoken takes it. After that, Fujiki turns towards the hallway and hurriedly walks out of the room, the sound of the Dark Ignis laughing following him until he’s out of sight.

Ryoken closes his bedroom door, peeks into the bag, and spies brownies covered in chocolate, half melting and bit messy because of no doubt the trip Fujiki had to do to get here. They smell really good and look just as chewy as he likes them, and he immediately knows that Spectre must have given Fujiki the recipe that Kyoko used to make when they were kids and she wanted to get them off her back for more than five seconds, on those odd occasions that she visited.

Ryoken takes one out of the bag, his stomach growling, and takes one bite that makes a moan immediately slip out of his mouth because, fuck— they’re good brownies. They are sweet and taste like the right kind of chocolate that he could eat for hours straight and there are almonds in it to give it just the right crunchiness. He has to let go of the brownie and drop it right back into the bag because he knows that if he takes another bite he’ll eat all of them in one sitting, but can’t help sucking off his fingers and run a bewildered, shaking hand through his hair, feeling lighter than he did only minutes ago, his mood somewhat but not entirely restored to something less depressing. It's going to bite him in the ass later, but for now, Ryoken allows himself to enjoy one good thing that's been given to him with no ulterior motives.

 _I could kiss him,_ he thinks, taking off his clothes and walking into the bathroom to take that blessed shower, and the thought makes him pause, cringe at his own weakness for sweet things – and he ignores that part of his brain that tries to insist Fujiki Yusaku qualifies as such – and then decides that he’s going to bleach his brain, because he should not be having that kind of thoughts about him. Nope. Especially not naked.

The brownies were bomb, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you go. let the pining begin. yusaku has joined the fight.


	5. (finally, finally, finally) here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update!! finally. honestly this turned out so long, i have no idea how, but i hope you all like it! please leave a comment about your thoughts on the story so far, i'd love to hear it 😊💕

Spectre is one petty little shit.

Ryoken takes longer in the shower than he normally would simply because the sound of the water is soothing and makes him less like a melting mess of feelings. It’s almost like stripping off a layer of leftover anxiety, and he found it incredibly refreshing as well as effective to make him relax some, wipe off some of the tension. Regardless of that though, when Ryoken finally stops stalling and heads downstairs into the kitchen he’s greeted by the sight of Spectre handing huge plastic containers with gourmet hamburgers inside them.

He makes eye contact with him when he notices his presence and smirks as he hands Homura a plate, and Ryoken has to watch his overnight guest struggle with assembling his burger without spilling it all over the counter. Fujiki is sitting right next to Homura and looking almost as uncomfortable as Ryoken feels at the food, though that might be more directed at the sheer amount there is rather than the possibility of getting the counter stained.

Ryoken isn’t exactly a neat freak or anything like that. He’s known for years that the anxiety that grows in his chest at the sight of his home being in a state of less than downright perfect cleanliness comes from his desire as a kid to keep his father’s place intact for when he came back, and then for him to be healthy in the house with no need for a hospital. He’s had similar quirks before that; as far as he can remember Ryoken’s always had a thing for doing things a certain way, or checking and rechecking certain things that made him uncomfortable to not be sure of, but his obsession with keeping specifically his house clean came later.

He doesn’t put a name to it, despite knowing or at least having an idea of what it is, but he’s aware he can’t keep ignoring it, especially when the mere thought of the kitchen counter getting dirty makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t get like this when it’s him or Spectre cooking, but that’s because he knows how Spectre cooks and he does so in the same way he does, as well as with the cleaning. Right now, it’s not just that they’re going to probably end up dripping sauce everywhere, but also that they’re apparently eating in the kitchen counter and he doesn’t like eating dinner with guests in the kitchen counter. There’s a dining room for a reason, but he tries not to linger on that. It would be in bad faith to make everyone move after they’ve already opened up their meals.

Spectre is not trying to attack him by presenting him with the daunting idea of Homura and Fujiki messing up the place, even if he knows it’ll bother him. He’s just being a petty little shit forcing him to have to interact with their guests, even if it’s just to tell them off about how they’re eating. It’s something he sometimes does when he thinks Ryoken is being a jackass without motive— he’ll leave a dirty tissue in the guest bathroom or gardening tools on the porch table or he’ll forget that the shoes go in the genkan instead of the closet with the coat racks, just to prove a point. Ryoken’s never been bothered by it because he knows Spectre by heart, even if his apparent friendship with Homura Takeru is… unexpected.

“Take a seat, Ryoken-sama!” Spectre says, uncharacteristically cheerful, making Ryoken struggle to keep his face from reflecting just how done he is with the situation. Fujiki is sitting with his back to him, but he has already turned around to look up at Ryoken, green eyes widening as he caught sight of him. He keeps staring, to which Ryoken wonders if his post-shower hair is that bad or he just likes to stare a lot. "I hope you're hungry."

"Starving," Ryoken mumbles, but in reality, the confrontations from earlier pretty much took away any real appetite. He hesitates before sitting down next to him and in front of Fujiki, who is still looking at him. He doesn't have his Duel Disk on, which immediately makes Ryoken worry about the possibility of the Ignis running around in his house, but he doesn't voice his concerns for the sake of keeping this conversation clean.

Homura shifts awkwardly in his seat, looking back and forth between Ryoken's constipated face and Fujiki's attentive eyes on him like he thinks he's watching a quiet conversation, which proves he _knows_ things about him through Fujiki as well as Spectre—

Ryoken realizes, with a quiet, private scoff, that he's been set up to have Homura tolerate him in some way. No wonder he apologized when he had Fujiki _'we'll seize a future together'_ Yusaku and Spectre, eternally biased, to explain to him that he's a piece of shit but he's working on it. Does that undermine his apology? Not really, in Ryoken's eyes. Homura has clearly thought about it and come to his own conclusions, which is all Ryoken could ever hope for because he's never looking to excuse himself. He's sure Fujiki and Spectre were as honest as possible, which is a lot.

Looking around the table, Ryoken stares at how Homura is truly struggling like he's never seen anyone do before to hold the burger, and the crippling fear that he will drop it on the floor is what makes Ryoken reach out, lay his hand on his, and shoot him a desperate look.

"Please cut it in half," is what he says, and the comment makes Spectre snort without any reserve. Ryoken glances at Fujiki to see him still staring, to which Ryoken sighs. "Eat. I'm not that interesting to look at and I'm sure you have my picture somewhere."

Spectre snorts again, probably at how Fujiki turns as red as a tomato, but Ryoken is _tired._ He's too tired, emotionally and physically, to care about being subtle right now. He can feel a headache growing, slowly making his head pound.

"I'm sorry," Homura finally blurts out, which makes Ryoken shift his eyes to him. Something about them must be intense, because Homura winces. "Can I have my hand back? I promise not to make a mess."

Ryoken lets go of Homura's hand and promptly stands up to get him a knife, which he's actually a bit nervous about because he doesn't want to deal with playing nurse right now too. Fujiki is now dividing his attention between his food and Ryoken, which is better but not ideal. With another sigh, Ryoken drops himself in his seat, assembling his burger and bringing it up to his mouth to take a normal-sized bite in a weak attempt to get some food into his stomach, instead of the monster bite he spies Homura taking out of his own. Spectre is weird, so he eats his burger without assembling it, while Fujiki takes small bites but keeps eating.

When the silence gets too loud for him, Ryoken turns towards Fujiki, makes eye contact, and asks: "So how are you three doing in school?"

Homura _chokes._

Ryoken actually startles in his seat from the force of it, because Homura seemed to have taken a quick, very deep breath that made food get stuck in his throat for a few seconds before he was able to swallow. Fujiki claps his back in an attempt to help him, and Ryoken itches to check if he's fine himself, but the reminder that he has no right to worry about the well-being of the victims creeps into his head and makes him hesitate for too long for him to do it.

Spectre is handing him his own glass of water, a semi-concerned but amused expression on his face, while Fujiki tells him to calm down in what Ryoken can only call a quiet whisper. It's not too long before he's recovered, and he looks right at Ryoken with a pained smile.

"Sorry, I'm just… not the best student," Homura has a sheepish smile on, and he's taken off his glasses, which Spectre grabs and cleans for him. Ryoken stares at the motions of his hands for way too long. "I think I'm doing better."

"He's dumb as a rock," Spectre says, rolling his eyes, and Homura makes a protestant noise, shooting Spectre an insulted look. Fujiki just judges them quietly, to which Ryoken can relate. "Well, maybe not a rock, but he _is_ getting better."

"And what about you?" Ryoken directs the question right at Fujiki, because he knows what Spectre's grades are; he's seen his report cards carelessly shoved into his desk drawer, but Fujiki's startled reaction makes Ryoken genuinely curious to find out more. "Any improvement?"

Fujiki’s expression turns sour almost immediately, his eyebrows narrowing, but there's a flash of some emotion that passes too quickly that Ryoken can understand means he's surprised to see him directly addressing the content of his letters. He’s surprised by that too.

"It… could be better," Fujiki's voice is solid, but there's something incredibly soft about the way he's addressing him. After so long, Ryoken sort of forgot how his intensity is much quieter outside of Link VRAINS, how his eyes manage to pull him because there's something almost eerie about their brightness instead when they’re not housing burning fury. "Spectre's given me some pointers but he's not the best teacher."

Spectre scoffs, but Homura is the one that defends his honour. "He's not _that_ bad, you just don't get the way he speaks—"

" _No one does._ "

"Now, we've gone over this, Take-chan is just on my wavelength—"

"I'm _not_ nearly as weird as you—"

Ryoken watches the bickering with a feeling akin to the one he would get from a fever dream: from far away, like he's floating, shocked at the image before him. It's so… domestic. In synch. They all slide off the other perfectly, Fujiki's dryness and Homura's fiery spirit perfectly complimenting Spectre's manic personally, and it is in this moment that he comes to the realization of how out of touch he is with everything.

He knows nothing about what anyone is doing or how they have changed. He has no idea what the state of SOL Technologies is or if there's been investigations coming up or if Spectre is really as similar to who he was ten months ago or if Fujiki's letters really make up for not being _there._ He doesn’t even know what happened to Link VRAINS, which is especially shocking, because almost a year ago it was all he could think about.

And even still, he's happy they have this, and finds himself fighting back a grin. Fujiki glances at him just in time to catch it and repeatedly blinks his eyes as if he's not sure of what his saw, which makes Ryoken decide to make eye contact and wink.

Fujiki's mouth drops a little bit in shock, but Ryoken turns towards Homura and Spectre, not wanting to exploit what little confidence he has right now any more. His headache is nowhere near retreating.

"Alright, I shouldn't have asked about school," Ryoken says, effectively cutting off their bickering. They hardly look bothered by it, which means playful arguing is probably commonplace among their little threesome, so Ryoken takes note of it, if only for future reference and interrogation. "You are all clearly awful at it."

"Ha!" Spectre brings a hand up to Ryoken's shoulder, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Like you would be any better."

Ryoken shakes his head because he's right— he would either be left in the dust or overdo it every single time. He wouldn't be able to fit into the education system without raising red flags, as already proven by the fact that he was put through test after test during the period under which his trials were taking place, which was a stressful experience itself. The results were good, but it was painfully clear that his knowledge was made to be used in practice; he was told someone his age should be struggling with half the subjects he breezed through, if not most of them, and Yukiko-san insists that his knowledge on medicine is far too high for someone his age.

Ryoken doesn’t think about it much, but there’s a reason apart from his age that he chose not to join Spectre in Den City High School and that he isn’t looking at any universities. He’s happy with a diploma he never thought he would get.

"So, uh," Homura starts, bringing Ryoken back to present time and looking uncomfortable about it. For once, Fujiki is not staring at him but rather at his food, which is a nice change of pace. He knows that Fujiki likes to observe things like they're puzzles to be solved, but Ryoken was stared at enough both during his trials and in jail. He's quick sick of it. "What do you do around here to have fun?"

The question makes Ryoken raise an unimpressed eyebrow, because it’s literally the last thing he wants to think about right now. "I read. There's nothing else I can do."

Spectre makes a noise of disagreement, openly rolling his eyes as he brings his glass up to his lips. "Honestly, Ryoken-sama, you could get a hobby. We have more than enough resources for it."

Ryoken tries not to frown at the reminder that finding a hobby was, in fact, something he just found out he was supposed to be doing in order not to go stir crazy in his own home. Reading would only distract him for so long, he’s already having trouble sleeping, and there’s something about the things he used to do as a kid that he just struggles to think about for more than a few minutes before discarding them entirely.

It’s quite a wake-up call, to realize that he’s had no interests apart from the Ignis, Link VRAINS, SOL Technologies and his father for what must be almost if not exactly ten years. He used to do so many things as a child, like hiking and stargazing and painting and playing music and he used to be obsessed with board games, mostly because he had almost no one to share his time with, but now the thought of doing any of those things makes something that feels like an invisible hand go into his chest to squeeze his heart, another one wrapping around his throat. It’s the anxiety of being out of jail, he knows that; it’s his fear of not knowing, but he’s dealing with it as much as he can. His little freak out earlier in the closet was probably not a good sign.

“I’ll have to think about it,” is what Ryoken ends up saying, his voice strangled, and they all must feel that something is suddenly off about him, because they don’t look at him weird nor do they try to deepen the subject. Homura does look a bit guilty he’s apparently killed any positive mood Ryoken had going, but he doesn’t blame him and makes it clear by trying to put on what he hopes looks like a friendly smile. “When did you move to Den City?”

Beside him, Spectre’s shoulders slightly relax, which means he’s made a good move. Homura’s eyes light up a bit at the subject change, chewing on the remnants of his burger with so much energy he fears he might pop his jaw.

“I met Yusaku during, well, the trials. We kept bumping into each other and I guess eventually we got along and he offered to tell me about Hanoi and Link VRAINS and— everything,” Homura pauses, licking sauce off his thumb, and Ryoken hears the unspoken confirmation that he knows he’s sitting beside Playmaker. Fujiki, who is apparently still a quiet soul, just nods along, half of his burger still on his plate and holding his glass of water in his hands as if he doesn’t plan to eat any more of it. “I was already staying here for everything so we met up and… it took me three months to understand, and then another month to make a decision about it. Then I transferred, so we could—”

Homura stops himself right there and exchanges a look with Fujiki, who isn’t glaring but is very obviously giving him what appears to be a warning look. Ryoken stares at the brief yet obvious exchange and knows without a doubt that they want to keep some details to themselves about why, exactly, Homura moved from his hometown, or at least about how it went down, but Ryoken isn’t going to question them about it, even if he’s curious. He’s got enough on his plate right now.

“Take-chan just couldn’t resist Fujiki-kun’s charming words,” Spectre offers up, when he decides that Homura’s been hesitating for too long about how he's going to finish his sentence. “You know, Fujiki-kun has all this mysterious boy image at school, you wouldn’t believe—”

“I do _not_ ,” Fujiki straightens up on his seat and glares at Spectre, his voice like steel and leaving no room for argument. Homura chuckles into the glass of water he’s brought up to his lips like this is a daily occurrence, and Ryoken can’t help but let out an amused sigh. Fujiki pays them no mind, though, focused on his target only. “If anything, you’re the one going around creating gossip. Most of the student body doesn’t know I’m there.”

Spectre, sly as always, only shrugs and turns towards Ryoken, mischief in his eyes. “Which is a shame, don’t you think, Ryoken-sama? Fujiki-kun’s quite the looker, after all, with those green eyes and chubby cheeks.”

Fujiki makes a sound like he’s going to grab a knife and hurl it right at Spectre’s face, but Ryoken finds interesting how his skin starts to flush red from the neck of his hoodie up to his ears, his eyes glancing at Ryoken telling him all he needs to know about this unexpected reaction. Give it to Spectre to cause things like this to happen.

Fujiki cares for Ryoken’s opinion _on his looks._ That is… quite unexpected, even if Ryoken suspected he was always going to be interested in hearing what he had to say about things, considering the nature of his letters, but it’s one thing to think he cares about that and another one to see him expectantly waiting for Ryoken to answer a question like this one.

Well, Ryoken thinks, he might as well be honest.

“You’re absolutely right,” Ryoken says, despite his brain telling him not to, because it’s been a while since he’s gotten the chance to be this chaotic. Fujiki’s eyes go wide, but he somehow manages to get his blush under control. Faking confidence he hasn’t had ever since before the Tower of Hanoi, Ryoken leans on his elbows and props his chin upon his fist, leaning into the table and lowering his voice as if he’s telling a secret. “Fujiki just needs to give them a chance to look at him.”

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, really, but Ryoken thinks it might be because he wants to delay the inevitable, which is a profound, deep talk with Fujiki similar to the one he had with Homura, and those that he’s tried but failed to have with Spectre. He’s going through the motions, trying to fit into the shell of himself he was ten months ago that he can’t seem to fit into anymore because he doesn’t know how else he should act around Fujiki. Most of the times they came face to face in Link VRAINS, he was Revolver, with nothing to lose and nothing to win, a mentality that allowed him to be cocky and smug and confident without a second thought because he knew there was nothing else for him beyond that for his relationship with Playmaker— or Fujiki Yusaku, for that matter.

He was proven wrong about that too.

Fujiki's mouth tightens into a line, his expression otherwise remaining deadpan, and then he crosses his arms, his eyes looking off to the side. "I don't want them to look at me."

The way he says it sends a trill down Ryoken's spine, but he doesn't get a chance to analyze it too much before he's feeling Spectre's hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from it.

"Aren't you going to eat, Ryoken-sama?" He asks, and the question, of course, makes Ryoken realize he's barely touched his food since he took that first bite. He glances down at it and thinks about how hungry he was earlier, but it seems like all of that disappeared a few bites in. Homura is already done and Spectre is almost there, even Fujiki having eaten more than he has.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out the anxiety from this little conversation has made his hunger disappear. But he doesn't want to waste food, because that's not something he likes to do, so Ryoken shakes his head and stands up to start picking up after himself. He might be hungry later and able to eat, or he might make this his lunch for tomorrow, one or the other.

"I'm done, actually. I wasn't that hungry," he claims, and he has to admit it's a bad excuse, but he doesn't want to have to explain himself right now. Spectre shoots him a look, but Ryoken ignores it. "Homura, if you're finished you can give me your plate—"

"Oh, I'll help you wash up—"

"No," the word comes out if Ryoken's mouth without his permission, but he doesn't take it back. Homura stares, taken aback by the sudden coldness of his voice. "It's fine. I'll take care of it."

Spectre, clearly noticing that Homura doesn't intend to back down right away, stands up and picks up the dishes, looking at them both as if they’re absolute idiots. They probably are.

"I'll handle this," he says, and Ryoken opens his mouth to protest, but he's one step ahead. "Ryoken-sama, maybe you can entertain Fujiki-kun while Homura helps me out? We promise not to make a mess."

The reminder that Fujiki is, in fact, still sitting down behind him, makes Ryoken snap his mouth shut. It actually hurts his teeth, with how harsh it is, but it is an effective way of getting Ryoken's mind off the kitchen. He tries to tell himself that it will be fine if he isn't there to see if something is done differently and he's sure Spectre will watch over Homura, but the thought still makes him uncomfortable.

There are priorities, though, but his logical brain and his anxiety brain are fighting over them. In the end, his logical brains wins; Ryoken makes eye contact with Spectre, takes a deep breath and nods, turning to walk out of the kitchen. He doesn't slow down or waits for Fujiki, instead just going to sit down on the couch Spectre helped him set up in the living room, right in front of the panoramic windows of his house, looking off to the sea.

There's not Stardust Road tonight, and there hasn't been ever since Ryoken got here. He didn't bother to look on his first day back, but ever since he's been waking up so early and he's been so unable to regain sleep that he just sits and watches the ocean, wishing he could be down on the beach and face the waves in person, be soothed by the sound of the water moving.

There are hushed voices coming from the kitchen, but Ryoken ignores them and instead focuses on getting his anxiety under control. It’s strange— before going to jail, Ryoken doesn't remember having paid attention to himself like he is right now, and he doesn't know if it's because he was so ready to die he didn't care or if he was just blocking it out. He's tried to discuss this with Yukiko-san, to push himself to bring it up, but even ten months after their meetings started Ryoken hasn't been able to completely address that details about the Tower of Hanoi.

He isn't sure if he wants to, either, but he knows it's inevitable that it gets brought up at some point. Right now, though, Ryoken is tempted to ask Spectre for his phone and dial her up, because he would love her help in trying to process how Homura's apology made him feel and what Fujiki just being here does to him. He thinks often about this now, after how, after being stripped off the illusion of power he had, after being pulled away from the edge in a questionable yet successful way, he is literally just a guy trying not to break down at the mere thought of his father.

How long has he been repressing this for? The anxiety? The sadness? The loneliness? He knows he was at his limit during the fall of the Tower of Hanoi, which is why he even called, but his limit was apparently death— so he’s probably been bottling this up for years without realizing in an effort to appear unaffected to the eyes of his father.

Ryoken spaces out so bad that he doesn't notice Fujiki stepping into the room until the couch shifts with the weight of his body. It almost makes him jump, but Ryoken managed to just take a quick surprised breath and then stay still, turning to stare at him.

Fujiki is looking at the view in front of them with a frown, biting his lips, focused and with his eyes darting around, as if Stardust Road would just show up any second now and it was just hiding. Or maybe he’s remembering how, a few feet to their left, his father’s body used to lay, plugged into medical equipment to be able to survive.

Either way, his thoughts are going, Ryoken hesitates but manages to speak up through the lump in his throat. "It's not visible tonight. Hasn't been all week."

Fujiki doesn't react right away to his words, but does nod his head in agreement after a few seconds. "The ocean's been quiet. I came up here once or twice—"

"You mentioned it," Ryoken agrees, clearing his throat in a way he finds obviously nervous. "In your letters. I remember."

Fujiki blinks, seemingly surprised at the interruption, but still doesn't turn towards him. When he speaks, his voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "I'm surprised you actually read them."

"There was little else to do," Ryoken starts, then pauses, trying to come up with a good way to say it. Fujiki tilts his head, almost bird-like, as if to signal he's listening. "I eventually looked forward to reading them. I appreciated you sending them."

Fujiki takes a deep breath and nods, finally turning to look at him. "You never answered. And you also never accepted any visits."

It comes out like an accusation, and Fujiki knows it, because his eyes and narrowed and his gaze intense, as if he's finally daring to directly confront everything that's between them and up in the air. Ryoken wishes he had a better excuse than the one he does, but he doesn't want to lie. Being honest will probably make Fujiki realize that while he might be doing better, it doesn't mean he's any better for it.

"I didn't want anyone to see me like that. I rejected visits from Spectre, too, when he got out," Ryoken shakes his head and shrugs, trying not to feel embarrassed about this admission, but Fujiki kept up the letters up until his last week. He at least deserved an explanation, as lame as it was. "I wasn't ready."

"Ready for what?"

Ryoken should have an answer for that, but he really doesn't beyond what Yukiko-san's said to him and made him think about. He's uncomfortable coming clean like this, but he has a gut feeling that it's better if he does this now, and gets some things out of the way, establish where he really is.

"I wasn't ready to face myself, and I wasn't ready to face the people I disappointed. You saw me at the trials. I ignored you, several times. I did that knowing it would hurt you, and I ignored your letters knowing the same thing. But I just couldn't answer," Ryoken takes a deep breath and tries to maintain eye contact, but it is a futile attempt. His eyes drift back towards the ocean and his hands find each other over his knee, his fingers tangling together and his thumb rubbing his knuckles in soothing, counted patterns of three. Fujiki waits silently, paying as much attention as he always does, and it would be unnerving had Ryoken not brought this upon himself. "My… my perspective on everything I believed in changed practically in a few seconds and from there on I've been making it up as I go. I have no idea who I am now, but… I'm not him anymore. Revolver. I'm not the one who saved you, either, not entirely. I'm just… lost. I don't know the things I used to know anymore and I don't have access to the things I did and I don't have any plans, or responsibilities. I don't know what you expect from me, I have been thinking about what you want for months, but I just need you to know I'm not him, either. I don’t know if I’ll be."

Fujiki stays silent for a long time after that, turning back to look out the window and allowing Ryoken a moment to compose himself. He's nervous as fuck, his knee bouncing despite him not wanting it to because he needs something else to soothe his mind and calm down his overthinking. He means every word, but he's admittedly worried that this honesty will be what actually makes Fujiki Yusaku resent him. It's, in fact, almost a complete rejection of his proposal from months and months ago, because he thinks it's a certainty that Ryoken is not going to be able to fulfil his expectations.

Is it bad that he's afraid of that, still? Of not being enough?

"Ryoken," Fujiki calls, his voice devoid of clues about how he feels, so Ryoken looks up to meet his eyes. The intensity of the green catches him off guard, much like every time he looks right at them after a while, but the feeling behind them is what makes the air in Ryoken's lungs freeze; they're soft, honest, and show an incredible amount of acceptance, maybe even admiration, and other emotions he's unable to recognize. He hesitates before he continues, seemingly trying to find his words, and settles for something simple but scary all the same. "I just want to know you. I… I thought about you a lot while you were gone. I was angry at you for a long time for choosing to go to jail, but I understand now. You might not be who you were ten months or ten years ago, but I still want to know that person."

Ryoken takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "I think you expect too much from me. I'll probably disappoint you."

Fujiki's eyes are so steady Ryoken is almost jealous that he can't meet that state of just _being_ , that he still has to figure himself out and somehow manage to make peace like Fujiki has, to rediscover how to be a person.

"I doubt you will. You got this far. I thought you were going to kick me out when you found me in your bedroom," Fujiki hesitates and shrugs, his face heating. "The fact that you didn't already rose my expectations bar."

Ryoken can't help but cringe, because that's probably not good for himself. "I hope it is set really low still."

Fujiki surprises him by giving him a small, almost unnoticeable smile, something so easy to miss Ryoken thinks he imagined it for a second.

"I have faith in you, Ryoken," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument because of how confident of it he is. "We all do."

A cynical chuckle escapes Ryoken's throat, and he can't help but shake his head. "I don't know if that's a good thing."

Fujiki raises an eyebrow at him. "Then suck it up. I'm not the only one looking out for you."

Ryoken immediately buries his face in his hands and shakes his head again, feeling dread crawling up from the bottom of his stomach to his chest and throat. It's a good thing he didn't eat that much, because he genuinely feels like he's going to end up emptying his stomach if he thinks about the incoming doom of going on with his life any longer.

"Fujiki, can I ask something of you?" He asks, failing to mask how shaky his voice is from the pressure of the situation. "I know I shouldn't, but I'd like a favour. You probably won't like it."

Ryoken, despite not being able to see it, can clearly picture the hesitation through Fujiki's silence, and feels the couch dip with the shifting of his weight. This piece of furniture is awful, really, it was under a sheet for ten years until literally like a week ago, and no matter how much Ryoken cleans it's still going to be fucking uncomfortable, but he'll have to think about what he wants to do with the house first, before daring to buy any furniture.

"You can ask me anything," Yusaku starts, but Ryoken doesn't look at him. "That doesn't mean I'll do it, though."

With a snort, Ryoken finally turns his head to look at him, still leaning on his hands, and bites his lips for a few seconds before daring to speak. "Can you not visit until after next week?"

Ryoken has to give Fujiki credit for not immediately being offended and lashing out, but his brow still furrows and he looks genuinely confused.

"Why?"

Ryoken opens his mouth, closes it, blinks at his expectant expression and decides that the truth is as good as any lie he could come up with. "I need to talk to my therapist about this. I haven't decided if I want you to be around yet. I need to think."

This is the point in which Ryoken expects Fujiki to punch him, because he would gladly take it as a punishment for his nerve to ask something like this of him, but any tension gets ruined by him just going _'oh'_ and shrugging with a nod.

"That's alright. I got too excited by Spectre giving me the security codes and the idea of seeing you," colour rises on Fujiki's cheeks, and Ryoken notices for the first time how he seems to break eye contact only when he's nervous or unsure. For someone who usually stares to the point of it being unnerving, Ryoken is surprised he hadn't noticed it before. "Maybe I shouldn't have come here at all."

Ryoken winces. "Your timing could have been better for sure."

Fujiki nods, but it's more of an automatic response than real agreement. "You can take how much time you need, Ryoken. I wanted to find you above everything. I can wait a bit more to get to know you."

"And if I don't want you to know me? If I don't want Fujiki Yusaku or Playmaker in my life ever again?"

The question is admittedly cruel, and it slips past his lips without filter, but he finds himself not regretting it. Fujiki's broken into his home, gone into his room and at least looked at a private picture on his desk not even Ryoken can look at, and he's also the person that finally made him hit rock-bottom, if he wasn't already there when they met. He feels justified in not wanting anything to do with him ever again, but he isn't quite sure he wants that at all.

He needs him to accept that there's a possibility of it happening though, as small as it is.

“I would have to find a way to live with that,” Fujiki says, his voice barely above a whisper, but there’s not one drop of dishonesty in his voice. He looks disappointed, but not surprised, and Ryoken wonders if maybe he was expecting this due to the lack of response to his letters, the denial of visits, the circumstances around them. “As I said, I’m happy to have found you at all. Knowing you is a luxury.”

“A luxury,” Ryoken echoes back, but Fujiki’s gaze remains stable, not trying to measure him up or look deeper into what he’s thinking like he’s indeed content with waiting for Ryoken to be ready to address this in a way that doesn’t feel like he’s giving up on actually moving on. He never thought he would be put in a situation like this, that he would ever meet an individual so stubborn and resilient yet patient and interested in him, in what he has to say, in what he actually thinks, that doesn’t want him to parrot back the same ideas and thoughts; then again, Ryoken never considered he would live past the Tower of Hanoi and the commands of his father. It’s flattering, in a way, but also absolutely terrifying.

Ryoken opens his mouth to ask Fujiki what is it about him, apart from the obvious Hanoi Project connection that keeps tying them together, that makes him be so interested in him, but gets interrupted by Spectre walking into the room with Homura in tow, his hand on Homura’s shoulder and walking so closely together that Ryoken almost makes a double-take.

“It’s getting late,” Spectre comments, and Ryoken takes a look out the window as if it wasn’t obvious that sunset was long gone. He hasn’t been paying attention to what goes on outside the little bubble of this evening, and it’s even harder for him to care about the time when he knows he can’t go out. "Fujiki-kun could miss the bus."

Fujiki looks very annoyed at the interruption, but nonetheless stands up and buries his hands in his pockets, looking at Ryoken out of the corner of his eye as if he wants him to still speak up about what he wanted to say.

"I need to get Ai from upstairs," he says after a couple of seconds, turning towards Homura, who goes _‘ah, right’_ before excusing himself and taking Fujiki upstairs with him, leaving Ryoken alone with Spectre. Fujiki seems to drag his feet as Homura babbles nonsense about a school project, which is an admittedly funny picture.

They say nothing, at first, but when Spectre sighs and sits beside him on the couch, Ryoken finds that holding his tongue is futile; he’s looking for ways to say this without coming off too angry or desperate, but they all escape him, so he decides to be direct.

“You could have told me,” he starts, lowering his voice just in case Fujiki and Homura come down at any second. Spectre doesn’t visibly tense up, but his eyebrows furrow and the drumming of his fingers against his own knee tell Ryoken he was expecting this. “You could have told me more about Homura, at least. Or that you’ve actually been spending time with them. Or that they’re this used to you being around.”

Spectre doesn’t answer right away, but Ryoken knows it’s not because he’s looking for an excuse. No, he’s probably doing the same thing Ryoken tried to do, looking for a way to explain himself without turning defensive because he knows a fight between them over something like this isn’t worth it. Sometimes, Ryoken thinks, it’s quite obvious they grew up together.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea, for several reasons,” Spectre sounds as nonchalant as always, but there’s an edge of hesitation to his words that gives him away. “Mainly, I wasn’t sure you would understand quite yet why or how the three of us… get along, for lack of a better word.”

Ryoken can’t help but snort. “I’d say you and Homura do more than get along.”

Spectre meets his eyes as he says it, and a twinkle of amusement lights them up. “Homura and I have something special, indeed. It’s not something people easily understand.”

An emotion he doesn’t like bubbles up in Ryoken’s chest, making him feel at least fifty-percent more anxious than he already was a few seconds ago. He tries to squash it down, but now the thoughts that came with it won’t go away, and he’s talking before he can stop himself because he doesn’t feel like questioning his friendship with Spectre to the point of doing something stupid because of it.

“Is it more special than what we have?”

There’s something strangely miserable about the way Ryoken says it, like he’s already given up on getting a good answer, if not the one he wants. Yukiko-san has warned him about this, about how his expectations of other people in regards to what they think of him are too low, but Ryoken can’t quite help it right now. The day’s been long, and part of his brain is overworked right now, too caught up on Fujiki and Homura and how they made him feel like he was swallowing acid.

Spectre keeps quiet for a few seconds, and then he brings a hand up to rest on Ryoken's shoulder, tilting his head, his eyes locking on his with genuine concern.

"Ryoken-sama?" He asks, and he has no doubt that it is a request for him to explain himself better.

With a sigh, Ryoken breaks eye contact and shrugs. "I was surprised you when I found out you decide to come back here. I thought you would want a fresh start."

Spectre's gaze remains as penetrating as always, and his voice measured as if he's trying to be careful with him. "I had a fresh start, Ryoken-sama."

"You know what I mean," Ryoken barely keeps himself from snapping, sitting up and leaning in to avoid raising his voice. Spectre meets his eyes with no hesitation, but Ryoken can tell he's genuinely confused. "You don't need me anymore."

Spectre recoils at the words as if Ryoken hit him in the stomach, his whole body curling away from him and his face falling into shock, his eyebrows raising. The hand on his shoulder tightens, and then, slowly, Spectre gets himself under control and sighs, shaking his head.

"So what if I don't?" He starts, something about his tone making a lump form in Ryoken's throat. "You were gone for ten months, Ryoken-sama. You wouldn't let me visit and you would not take any phone calls. I eventually realized that I couldn't keep holding on to you the way I used to… but I still decided to stay."

Ryoken swallows and, with as much subtlety as possible, blinks away the sudden tears that want to spill from his eyes. "Why?"

Spectre sighs again, this time shrugging.

"Because I still hold you in high regard. I still admire you. I still want you to be happy," Spectre pauses, taking a moment to look into Ryoken's eyes again, to really read the thoughts he doesn't dare say out loud. "I'm not abandoning you. Homura is my best friend, yes, but he's never going to replace you. I'm sorry I never told you about this sooner."

Ryoken hears the unspoken implications of them being a family and decides to bury his face in his hands again, trying not to break down right here, right now. He's had plenty of occasions like this one, where his brain catches up to his feelings and he has a good, prolonged moment to just soak in it. They have all happened in Yukiko-san's presence, and he rarely ever cries during it because he's long trained himself not to do that, but the experience itself is so relieving, takes so much off his shoulders, that Ryoken accepts the shaking of his frame and the pressure easing off his chest with no complaints.

He doesn't know exactly how long he stays like that, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, because Fujiki and Homura aren't back yet when he sits up and runs a hand through his hair, letting out a deep sigh that hopefully carried away all the anxiety that's been accumulating ever since he got there. It doesn’t, at least not immediately, but it was something.

Spectre's hand is still on his shoulder, so Ryoken turns towards him with what he hopes it's a decent attempt at a grin.

"I'll try not to be jealous, then," he winks, to which Spectre rolls his eyes. Still, Ryoken's expression softens up again, until he's shooting Spectre a serious look. "Thank you. As always."

Spectre brings a hand up and makes a gesture as if he's brushing it off. "No problem. I'll always be here for you."

Ryoken wants to say more, perhaps talk about how exactly he and Homura came to be as close as they appear, but he gets interrupted for a second time by Fujiki and the aforementioned individual walking into the room, the Dark Ignis babbling away and instantly souring his mood.

"...it's so disrespectful to be put in a drawer, and in the weirdo's bedroom no least! Yusaku-chan, did I do something to offend you!?"

"Apart from existing?" Ryoken stands up, turning towards them, crossing his arms, and looking right at Fujiki's wrist with the best glare he can conjure up right now.

The Dark Ignis points an accusing finger at him. "Why are you still so mean to me!? I thought you were supposed to go through a redemption arc, you know, like that one guy from that show that also has a nasty dad who gives him a scar—"

" _Excuse me?_ "

" _Ai,_ shut up," Fujiki interrupts, which was an extremely wise decision, because Ryoken was getting angry faster than he thought possible for his emotional state right now.

Homura whistles in an attempt to clear up the air, but now Ryoken can't stop frowning. He'll probably go to bed with that expression stuck on his face, but he swallows down the fury and pretends the Ignis isn't looking at him like he's a fascinating discovery, refrains from pointing out that there’s no such thing as a complete redemption for someone like him because this isn’t a fucking TV show.

"Alright then, I'm gonna walk them to the bus stop and be back in a bit. Ai's deleting any trace of us going out. Keys?" He looks at Spectre, who literally just throws him his set of house keys and his card to automatically open the security system. Ryoken doesn't know how to feel about that level of trust, but the reminder that he’s staying does make questions pop in his mind when he remembers how dusty the guest bedrooms are.

"Where are you going to sleep?" The words blurt out of Ryoken's mouth, and everyone makes an awkward pause. Fujiki, in particular, raises his eyebrows and avoids eye contact, which means he _knows._

It’s Spectre who dares answering, because Homura spends way too long gaping like a fish. "In my bedroom."

"You have one bed,” Ryoken uselessly points out, trying not to immediately think of the implications. “We don’t have a futon."

"Indeed."

Ryoken takes the hint and shuts the fuck up, but he notices Homura and Spectre exchanging a quick look and knows he's going to have to ask about this or he's not going to sleep at all ever again in his life. He genuinely has no idea what the fuck is going on with them. The Ignis, from its place in Fujiki’s wrist, makes a rather crude gesture, which Fujiki swats away by literally flicking its head with his finger.

Homura awkwardly points towards the front door. "I'll start unlocking."

And because Spectre hates him: "I'll help! Fujiki-kun, borrow the Ignis for a second?"

"Sure," Fujiki shrugs and doesn't hesitate to take his Duel Disk off, dropping it in Spectre's hands like it's nothing. The sight gives Ryoken whiplash, because now that's an image he thought he would never see: Playmaker, willingly giving away the Ignis. Ryoken thought he wouldn't live to see the day. The ghost of his old self is extremely angry at it, but Ryoken is just shocked. “You can always adopt him—”

“I’m not moving in with the weirdo!”

The Ignis doesn't put up a fight either, apart from screaming that manages to remind Ryoken he is, in fact, still suffering from migraines and he should take his medicine tonight before going to bed. It's almost as useful of a reminder as just having an assistant robot to do it.

Spectre taking away the Ignis does result on Ryoken standing in silence with Fujiki, trying not to appear uncomfortable and mostly avoiding his eyes. Seconds pass, and the silence yet again becomes so much that Ryoken has to be the one to speak up. Even in things like these, Playmaker always wins. Amazing.

"You have something you want to ask," Ryoken says, and Fujiki doesn't jump, but he does tense up, eyes jumping to his face. "It's alright, I'm in no place to judge any curiosity considering… everything."

Fujiki squints at him for a second and then looks away, seemingly thinking about what he has to say. "It's a request."

Ryoken has to admit it takes him by surprise. "Oh?"

Fujiki turns towards him fully, hands in his pockets, and meets his eyes head-on. They're shiny, like perfectly polished emeralds, and Ryoken's never been so fascinated yet uncomfortable at the intensity of someone looking at him like Fujiki Yusaku does, like he is somehow worth being looked at like that. It takes his breath away, but it also feels like a punch to the gut.

"Can I hug you?" Fujiki asks, and because deep inside Ryoken is a very perturbed, very weak, very touch-starved man, he only stands there in shock for a few seconds before he's nodding, giving in to Fujiki's request because in the end, he's probably the only person be would dare give in to like this; not even Spectre would be allowed this much weakness from him in a day, and they already had enough for a week just now.

So Ryoken allows Fujiki to step forwards, wrap his arms around his middle and bury his face in his neck. It's far more intimate than he thought it would be, and his heartbeat makes it obvious that despite him not wanting to feel this in the flesh because he doesn't deserve this comfort, he _is_ , and he needs it so badly he almost wants pulls him closer. Ryoken's not good at hugs, and he has a suspicion Fujiki isn't used to them either, because he's unsure about the positioning of his arms and he's trying really hard to simultaneously respect his personal space while brushing his nose against the skin of his neck, so their torsos are barely touching, but it's nice, in a way.

“Welcome home, Ryoken” Fujiki whispers, and Ryoken closes his eyes at the feeling that bubbles up in his chest, warm and new.

It probably lasts only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity before Fujiki's stepping back, a blush high on his cheeks, and mumbling some good-byes and thank yous. He only lingers enough to confirm Ryoken will let him know about his decision regarding his mere presence in his life, and then he all but bolts towards the front door and leaves Ryoken standing there like he's frozen in time.

Eventually, he recovers enough mental strength to move and goes right into the kitchen to check everything is in place, and finds it just how he prefers it. He spies Yukiko-san's cookies on the counter and takes the bag, taking it upstairs with him and changing into his pyjamas with ease, deciding that he isn’t going to bother figuring out what Spectre and Homura are doing for now. He takes Fujiki's fucking bomb brownies and eats the two bags of sweets sitting on his desk by himself without feeling a bit of remorse for it, and then he spies Homura entering Spectre's bedroom when he goes to dump the trash in the kitchen's garbage bag. He brushes his teeth with as much care as possible, and then he falls into bed, buries his head into a pillow, and immediately passes out.

Perhaps as a bit of a bad sign, Ryoken dreams that someone goes into his closet and messes up his organization system, which manages to wake him up in the middle of the night with a headache before he’s going back to sleep, one last thought going through his brain.

‘ _Oh, tomorrow will be bad.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prepare for Sadness. thanks for reading!


	6. digging down deeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas y'all. sorry about the lack of updates in general, i've been a bit overwhelmed by college these last couple months, so i'm still trying to balance out writing and studying. i hope you enjoy this chapter and have a happy new year!!
> 
> send some love to Celepom on Tumblr because she sometimes makes my writing sound like actual words. such sweetheart 💕 don'r forget to drop a comment!

Ryoken wakes up one hour later than he usually does, which is to say it's almost five a.m. There's a pressure in his chest from the get-go making it hard for him to breathe in and out, and he realizes with little shock but a lot of dread that's he's going through an episode of sleep paralysis.

He doesn't get them often, but they sure last longer than he would like. Ryoken lays there shaking and struggling to breathe for what feels like years, inexplicable fear running through his veins; closing his eyes to avoid looking at the darkness and let his mind run wild, and by the time his mind calms down and he's able to drift off again, a quick look at his bedside table tells him its early enough to get started on breakfast.

A nasty migraine makes him nauseous as he sits up and he stumbles over his own feet before he's able to get a hold of himself and mentally check-in, going through breathing exercises and trying to remember when was the last time he took his anxiety meds, because this sudden headache and the feelings that breed inside his chest usually show up when he's neglected to care for himself like he's supposed to. Which he hasn’t done often lately, not on purpose. It can’t just be the sleep paralysis, because, on a good day, he’s able to shake that off by the time he’s able to calm down from it.

This doesn’t seem like a good day.

He manages to walk right over to his desk and grab the little calendar he was given by Yukiko-san in order to help him keep track of not only his two years of house arrest and community service but also of his meds. It was a nice gesture, coming from both a professional and genuinely invested interest to see him improve, but the second Ryoken sets his eyes on the current month and realizes he missed his last two doses, he feels shame crawling up his throat and heads right into the bathroom to take his scheduled early morning pill, knowing it won’t do much for him but it _might_ keep him from tumbling over the edge. His anxiety meds are relatively soft, just strong enough to keep the withdrawal from his far stronger depression meds and his stress at bay, so he’s almost begging for it to be enough as he gets himself back on track.

He isn't supposed to forget, but he did, and that, unfortunately, explains both the sleep paralysis and how he was constantly on the edge of breaking down yesterday during dinner with Fujiki, Homura and Spectre.

After that, though, Ryoken decides to try and not get too bummed out by this and goes about showering, then heads downstairs to figure out his lunch – he ends up just packing his barely eaten burger from yesterday, deciding he was too tired for a bento – and makes enough toast to, hopefully, satisfy Homura's seemingly prepared-for-anything stomach and Spectre's liking of accompanying it with avocado. He himself barely manages to chew his own piece, and ends up eating it plain despite being tempted to add butter and cinnamon, more out of a need to digest some sugar than out of real hunger. He shouldn't have finished all his treats yesterday, but then again, he should have taken his meds.

Unsurprisingly, Spectre is the one that wanders into the kitchen first, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his breakfast and going about making tea before Ryoken can even offer. He's already showered but isn't in his uniform, and he seems to notice Ryoken's silence the longer it goes on.

"Ryoken-sama?" He asks, blinking sleep off his eyes still. For his part, Ryoken doesn't acknowledge him at first, and only looks at him when Spectre clears his throat rather obnoxiously, making his head pound harder. "Is everything alright?"

Ryoken doesn't want to admit it, but he knows from past experiences that not letting someone know about his state of mind can lead to unnecessary trouble, so he fights off that stubborn side of himself and explains. "I forgot to take my meds yesterday, and the day before that."

Spectre pauses for a couple of seconds before he takes a bite of his toast, swallowing it down with tea before turning towards Ryoken, his expression grim. "Should I call Yukiko-san?"

"Don't, I'll be fine," Ryoken waves it off and heads over to start cleaning the dishes, stifling a sigh and cursing the pain in his temple. "I just have a headache. Is Homura up yet?"

"He's showering," Spectre takes a sip of his tea and squints at him, clearly not pleased with his answer. "Are you sure you shouldn't take the day off—"

"Spectre," Ryoken snaps, glaring at him, though some of the intensity of it is brushed away by how he almost drops the plate he's drying off because of his shaking hands. "I'm fine. It's just midday today as well, I'll handle it just fine."

Spectre looks at him like he wants to give him a piece of his mind, but then Homura walks in, his uniform shirt only buttoned up halfway, his glasses missing, his hair slicked back and his blazer sadly hanging off one arm, clearly in need of ironing.

"Hey, good morning," he smiles at Ryoken, to which he cannot even conjure up a small wave in response. Homura struggles to button up the rest of his shirt, clearly still half asleep, but at least more awake than Ryoken was expecting. "Thanks for cooking. What's for breakfast?"

His voice dry because of how little he’s looking forward to the day already and how tired he already feels, Ryoken points towards the plate resting on the counter. "Toast. Fight Spectre if you want avocado."

Homura opens his mouth, probably to either say something sickeningly domestic or thank Ryoken again for the food, but he just breezes pass him and takes a look outside just in time to see Nakamura-san pull up the driveway. He's driving the police car today, which is really inconvenient because Ryoken hates the police car, but it could certainly be worse.

It's a hassle to even step out of his house now. It was safe enough before only with keys and the driveway gate keycard, but now it takes Ryoken a little too long to get through the electronic locks, the fingerprint scan, and he’s hyper-aware of the security cameras. If he didn’t know this was to keep him in and not other people out, Ryoken would probably try to convince his parole officer to take them off his property.

Speaking of, Nakamura-san greets him with a smile and a handshake, the officer accompanying him today different from the lady that’s been with them all week. He’s shorter than Ryoken, but taller than Nakamura-san, and has a subtle small-town boy charm, with clean-cut hair dark hair and warm brown eyes. He makes eye contact with Ryoken, gives him a once-over from head to toe, and smirks, shooting him a cocky wink that makes Ryoken want to point out his cheap cologne smells like a car wash.

When Ryoken realizes what just happened, though, he gets this uncomfortable feeling in his chest, and can’t help but look at Nakamura-san for an explanation because he would rather be patted down by that sweet lady officer from before than by _him_. So much for looking harmless when he can smile like a sleazy bastard.

“Park got sick,” he shrugs, looking as thrilled as Ryoken is to have this guy around. “Rules say I can’t be the only one driving you around, and he’ll be staying at the orphanage as well.”

“Couldn’t you stay instead?” Ryoken knows he’s pushing Nakamura-san’s generosity, but he can’t quite help it right now; the last thing he wants is to deal with someone that, from the looks of it, thinks Ryoken would be desperate enough to take a bite out of the first thing he sees.

It's not only that, of course, but Ryoken doesn’t want to think much about his other source of discomfort. He knows very well what it is apart from how this guy turned from normal to slimy in one second, raising his hackles; he just isn’t in the mood to analyze or look too closely at his own sexuality and how he is nowhere near comfortable enough with it yet to address it despite how much he _likes it_. He knows for a fact that discussion is on Yukiko-san’s to-do list, so he isn’t in any rush to get ahead of it himself.

“Sorry, pal, but I have other stuff to get to today regarding security. Apparently there’s some footage missing from last night, do you know anything about that?”

“I wish I did,” Ryoken answers, not missing a beat and not thinking of Fujiki, stepping forwards and past Slimy Guy without any hesitation to his voice or his steps. “Sounds more interesting than any of my evenings.”

Ryoken hears Slimy Guy snicker at the unintentional confession that he’s indeed spending his nights alone and rolls his eyes, deciding that he won’t be trying to learn his name and he won’t acknowledge his presence at all unless it’s to glare at him until he stops looking at him like a piece of meat. He’s used to getting looks from people before going to jail; to getting phone numbers, propositions. He’s even been reckless and hung around underground clubs in search of information among known bounty hunters that had worked with SOL and been kissed and touched by strangers in such journeys as a means to an end. But this one-eighty shift his life made makes it so he has no patience for stuff like that anymore, to act like he’s interested in lieu of showing who he really is.

He’s not sure how he’s going to ever talk about that part of himself to anyone without feeling like he needs to lie or alter the events or his motives. Not only because, while not illegal, it was shady but because he was sixteen when he started and he dropped out of it by the time he was eighteen. He never drank anything, never consumed anything, he just mingled, but that was enough to make him feel slimy about it. It’s nothing Aso or Kyoko didn’t do as well, but it was still hardly _proper._

He’s still fighting a headache and he still feels some leftover muscle cramps from the sleep paralysis, and he’s admittedly not looking forward to the rest of the day, so he has no business thinking about that. Onizuka stopped riding with them after Ryoken gave him a piece of his mind that first day, but he still shows up at the orphanage and hangs out with the kids, this time around doing his job and mostly supervising or helping Ryoken when he has no idea what to do.

It’s quite obvious he took the things he said to heart, but Ryoken really doesn’t feel like carrying a shadow around until lunchtime. When Nakamura-san drops him off, Slimy Guy lingers a bit too close in his space for his liking, but he is otherwise efficient at his job of making sure Ryoken is not going to pull something weird while someone’s not looking. Onizuka doesn’t greet him apart from a nod, but Suzuki-san wraps him in a hug he’s not entirely comfortable with yet, and his skin crawls afterwards even though he tries to appear unbothered.

Ryoken goes right to the baby area, after a brief stop in Suzuki-san’s office to drop off his backpack. It’s early, of course, and he should definitely be helping out Suzuki-san with organizing breakfast, but the peace of the room and the smell of baby powder somewhat soothe his mood. He checks on every baby under Onizuka’s watch, fixes up their clothes or pillows, and then stares for a little too long at Yuu-chan’s crib before walking over, bending to drop a kiss on top of her head and then walking out of the room to actually get started with the day.

Meals at the orphanage are often a bit messy, loud, and the tiniest bit stressful, because there are too many kids and far too few staff most of the time. He knows Suzuki-san is trying really hard to get more people on the morning shifts on weekends because that’s when there are the most kids in the building and not at school since not all of them have classes on Saturdays, and Ryoken offered to be there himself, but considering he’s the only one apart from Suzuki-san and a couple of other staff members that are there on full shifts during the week, she decided she didn’t want to overwork him.

Ryoken would have been able to handle it just fine, especially after a week with virtually no issues, even if there were a few freakouts. Today, though, Ryoken’s having a hard time remaining optimistic and lighthearted, so when the kids start trickling into the dining room and many of them head over to him to say hi, or good morning, or to ask for help, or to tell him about this thing they did while he was gone, or request that he sat beside them or that he explains more about Duel Monsters, Ryoken quickly finds his migraine growing stronger.

It gets harder and harder to pretend he's in a good mood the longer breakfast goes on. He tries to throw himself into work, space out into automatic functions, but he gets terribly distracted by every sound and movement around him, which, considering he's surrounded by children, happens every second.

Suzuki-san notices, of course, and Onizuka probably does as well, but they're both too caught up with the kids to do more than glance at him as if they can sense he’s currently a ticking time bomb. It isn’t until Ryoken almost drops a kid he was trying to get to eat his eggs that Suzuki-san pulls him aside for a moment to ask him if he’s alright, and Ryoken says through clenched teeth that he’s just tired and promises to be more careful. She doesn’t allow him to stay and banishes him to the nursery. Ryoken doesn’t have enough brainpower for a counterargument, so he just obeys and spends about an hour making sure the babies remaining there instead of in the dining room are all fed and their diapers are dry.

Perhaps a bit inevitably, Ryoken ends up giving in to Yuu-chan calling his name every time he walked by her crib and picks her up, only to sit in the playing area to watch her go wild with the toys. She tries to get Ryoken to participate, and he tries to focus on this, to find some reassurance in how simple and innocent this is, but the silence makes the thoughts in the back of his mind louder until his hands are shaking and his throat is closing up as a result. His headache pounds in his head so hard he gets dizzy for a few seconds, and despite not feeling _particularly_ anxious, probably as a result of the pill he did remember to take, there are goosebumps on his skin and a pit in the bottom of his stomach that only seems to further dampen his mood.

Ryoken closes his eyes and tries to balance his feelings, but it only serves to remind him of his sleep paralysis episode and it’s right then that the sickening thought that none of this would be happening if he had just won that duel and offed himself with the internet comes back. It actually makes some bile rise up his throat and he hurriedly picks up Yuu-chan to put her back in her crib, trying really hard not to compromise her safety. She refuses to let him put her down though, clinging to his shirt, tears springing in her pretty green eyes and making Ryoken's own wet out of panic and frustration and maybe a little bit of disgust towards himself.

Instead of putting her down, Ryoken swallows his tears and hugs her, taking in a few deep breaths before heading out of the room. Walking through the hallways like he's in a trance and slipping inside Suzuki-san's office without anyone interrupting him. Yuu-chan is still clinging to him tight and looking red-faced; Ryoken sits her down on the desk and all but drops himself into Suzuki-san's desk chair and wipes at her eyes carefully with a tissue he grabbed from the box on the desk, his hands shaking.

She looks at him with big, curious eyes, and Ryoken grabs the Playmaker plushie Suzuki-san keeps in her desk drawer to give her something to be busy with before he turns away to pick up the landline phone and make a call. He probably shouldn't be doing this without at least notifying someone, like Slimy Guy waiting outside, but his breath is too heavy in his lungs and every ring of the phone makes him even more anxious.

By the time Yukiko-san picks up, Ryoken feels a bit short of breath, dizzy and nauseated, and it becomes more prominent when she speaks up.

"Hello?" She answers, and Ryoken is able to take a shuddering breath in. "Who is this?"

"Yukiko-san," Ryoken starts, his voice strangled, and turns towards Yuu-chan when she calls for him, handing him the plushie. Ryoken stares at it, unseeing. "It's Ryoken."

"Ryoken? Is everything alright?"

He takes a deep breath and tries to find the right words to explain what he’s feeling, but they get caught in his throat and he ends up just listening to himself wheeze, trying to recover his breath, to stop the heavy, loud drumming of his heart in his chest, but it doesn’t. Ryoken squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus, but his head is pounding and not helping matters. He doesn’t realize that Yukiko-san is calling his name until Yuu-chan tries to grab the phone off his limp hand, scaring him and almost making him drop it.

Softly shushing her, Ryoken manages to control the shaking of his hands just enough to grab the phone back, running a hand through her hair, and takes a deep breath before talking, not knowing what exactly he’s going to say.

“I’m sorry for calling,” he starts, noticing how shaky his voice is, how rough, how utterly miserable he sounds. Yuu-chan stares at his face as if she’s waiting for him to do something funny, but he’s finding it very hard to even make the effort to pretend to not be at the edge of what he can only call a breakdown induced by stress, insomnia and perhaps even a relapse associated with his antidepressants. He’s been struggling with that but the anxiety meds made it a bit easier. He has no defences left without them constantly in his system. “I’m just… I’m not feeling alright.”

“What is it, Ryoken?” Yukiko-san’s voice is soft and patient yet worried, as if she was ready to do whatever she had to do to make sure that Ryoken didn’t do something stupid, or dangerous, or something he’ll regret, falling right into her role as a therapist. “Are you at the orphanage?”

A rush of shame runs through his body at the question, and his voice shakes when he speaks, nausea making it hard to breathe. “Yeah. I forgot to take my pills and it’s…getting to me.”

Yukiko-san makes a noise as if she’s starting to get even more worried about him, and Ryoken hates it, hates how obviously vulnerable he sounds if she’s reacting like that to it, but he can barely _think_ beyond the pounding of his head.

“Ryoken, are you alone right now?” Yukiko-san asks, her voice steady yet tense. Ryoken looks at Yuu-chan, allows her to chew on his finger, and a part of him considers lying. But he doesn’t.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m with Yuu-chan. I panicked and brought her with me to Suzuki-san’s office.”

There’s the rustling sound of paper coming from the end of the line, and then some movement Ryoken can’t identify, before Yukiko-san speaks up, sounding much closer somehow. It takes Ryoken a second to realize she got him off the speaker.

“Ryoken, you’re hyperventilating,” she says, and he realizes that this is true, his breath loud in his ears yet barely filling his lungs. He closes his eyes, leaning heavily on the desk as Yuu-chan pulls at his hair with one hand, looking confused. He feels lightheaded, yet as if there’s some invisible weight pushing him down. He barely hears Yukiko-san speaking over his own heartbeat. “...need you to listen to me right now, okay? You can’t stay there. You’re having an anxiety attack.”

Fighting back the watering of his eyes, Ryoken snorts, swallowing bile. “No shit. But I can’t leave.”

“You’re in no state to be at work right now, Ryoken, never mind alone. Suzuki-san isn’t around, is she?”

“She’s busy.” Ryoken feels a shiver running down his spine and opens his eyes slighting, blinking away tears. Yuu-chan is staring at him as if fascinated, but not in a good way; she doesn’t have quite the facial range yet to look truly concerned, even if that’s what she is. She sticks a hand up to pat his cheek, and it takes an incredible amount of strength not to just break right then and there.

“Talk to me, then,” Yukiko-san’s voice is soft, so soft that Ryoken struggles to really process the meaning of her words, and he, perhaps a bit selfishly, wishes she was there. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had a quiet anxiety attack in her presence. “That’s why you called, right? Talk to me, and I’ll text Nakamura-san and get him to come get you, alright? There must be an officer there, I’m sure they can help you—”

“No,” Ryoken blurts out, thinking of Slimy Guy. He doesn’t… he doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, either, much less someone like him. “No, no, he can’t.”

“Why can’t he do that, Ryoken?”

Ryoken doesn’t answer; he’s relatively choked up, and his vision is swimming. There’s a sense of panic hanging over him and while it doesn’t feel nearly as urgent as it did before calling, it’s hardly reducing and letting him calm down. It hits him like a truck, the stress of moving back home, the orphanage, meeting Homura and running into Fujiki once more. All of it makes noise in his head; like static building up, and he has the fleeting worrying thought that he’s going to blackout any second now purely because of his body deciding to give up on the stress.

Fuck, he really needs a better reminder to take his meds.

He thinks Yukiko-san is talking, trying to tell him something, but despite it being incredibly rude he decides to interrupt her.

“I’m so tired of this,” Ryoken barely hears himself beyond the roughness of his voice, but Yukiko-san stops and listens, immediately shifting into being an ear he can vent to. It’s weird, not being able to look at her to get an idea of what she’s thinking, but he can’t linger too much on it right now. “Why is it so _hard_?”

“What is, Ryoken?”

“To just… _live_ ,” Ryoken stresses the word out, feeling just a tiny bit silly at how dramatic they are, but Yukiko-san doesn’t say anything about it, so Ryoken continues. “It’s so… I don’t understand how I’ll get used to this. All I feel is stress all the time and I don’t know what’s going on, not really, and everyone has _changed_ —”

He cuts himself off when he feels Yuu-chan smacking his cheek, and looks down to see her on the verge of tears. It sends another rush of panic down his spine, until he realizes that his face is wet and his shoulders are shaking, and that her panic is just a reflection of his. He holds her close, leaning forward on the desk and keeping her caged with one arm, trying not to let his shaking betray him, but he’s— god he’s an absolute mess. He hates crying.

“Ryoken, it’s alright, that’s perfectly normal,” Yukiko-san starts, and Ryoken almost wants to snap at her that there’s nothing normal about this situation _at all,_ but he doesn’t get the chance before she’s speaking again. “You’re going through a lot of changes. We have talked about how hard it would be before, and we knew this was going to happen one way or another. It’s scary when things happen without your knowledge, but you’ll get there. You’ve had some wonderful progress, and you’re trying really hard. It’s okay to feel a little overwhelmed.”

“I wouldn’t say a little,” Ryoken mumbles, and holds the phone against his ear with his shoulder to be able to reach for the tissues in the corner of Suzuki-san’s desk. He cleans Yuu-chan’s face first, ignoring the shaking of his hands and shoulders and how he can barely see through his tears of frustration. “I just… it feels awful to go through this. It would have been easier to just…”

He hesitates on the word, swallowing, and takes in a very deep breath, knowing that she knows what he means with his silence, the idea of just disappearing from existence is something that he’s talked plenty about with her. He would be lying if he said Yukiko-san’s words weren’t a relief, that they didn’t help him get his breath under control and focus, but it’s an unsettling sort of calm, like any second now he could go off again. With a bit of disgust, Ryoken sucks up air through his nose in an effort to stop his nose from dripping as a side effect of the tears, and reaches for another tissue for himself. Yuu-chan is trying to get on his lap now, but Ryoken is too scared of dropping her to allow her on him.

“We have gone over this, Ryoken. You know that you weren’t in a great place ten months ago. The stress is getting to you, and I probably should have recommended you worked less hours a week so you could get some more time for yourself,” Yukiko-san’s soothing voice pauses, a sigh escaping her lips, but it’s not dismissive, or annoyed, or impatient; it’s just a sigh that seems to help her find the right words, as if she knows exactly what Ryoken is thinking and she’s choosing the best way to approach it. “You have been doing so well ever since coming back, better than I expected. What you’re feeling is just your anxiety flaring because you forgot to take your medicine, and that’s alright. It happens once in a while. But you _are_ improving, Ryoken, and you have so many people that worry very deeply about you and your progress, that love you, and you worry about them as well. You’re incredibly strong, but it’s okay not to be sometimes, alright? You’ll get over this, step by step, I’ll make sure of it. You just need to get over this and you’ll see that everything will be alright.”

Under any other context, Ryoken would have taken the praise as patronizing. Insulting; too high for what he actually feels he’s done. But right now, it hits right where it’s meant to and he allows himself to believe her words without doubts or searching for ulterior motives. He doesn’t sob, because he doesn’t like it and he doesn’t want to sob in his boss’ office, but something about the way he breathes in and out and shivers through it, his face twisting and wetting with tears, feels as wrenching as if he were downright breaking down more physically than he is. He manages to wipe his eyes just enough to look at Yuu-chan, who looks like she might actually cry if he keeps wearing whatever expression he’s wearing, so he pulls her in and supports her on one arm, hugging her to his chest, feeling her warmth almost like reassurance.

Yukiko-san remains on the line, quiet, until Ryoken is able to calm down enough to snort and rub his face clean with another tissue, feeling embarrassment running through his body as he readjusts to reality. It’s perhaps a bit sudden, how his mind just winds down until he’s able to find a semblance of calm, but for once he doesn’t try to rely on logic to apply it to his feelings. It’s just _cathartic_ to cry, even if Ryoken doesn’t like the act of doing so and struggles to accept that it’s fine to lose it for a few minutes sometimes, especially considering his current state.

Grabbing another tissue, he cleans up Yuu-chan as well, ignoring her attempts at kissing him – or her idea of kissing him; she just smacks her lips against whatever surface – and petting her hair down, all of it one-handed because he doesn’t quite feel like letting go of her to do it. There’s something oddly comforting about her hold on him, as if she needs him somewhat, or as if she knows what’s going on somewhere deep inside her head, so Ryoken doesn’t want that feeling to be over quite yet.

“Thank you,” Ryoken whispers, ignoring the roughness of his voice. His tongue feels like sandpaper, and he’s cold like someone just dumped a bucket of water over him but, somehow, he’s _better._ Not by a lot, but at least not at the edge of a full meltdown. If someone pushed him too hard, Ryoken might break. “It’s… it’s hard to believe, but it feels nice to hear it.”

“I gave you my number for a reason. I’m glad you used it,” there’s a real fondness in Yukiko-san’s voice as she says it, and Ryoken's face _heats,_ just a little bit _,_ further making his face blush red. “Are you feeling a bit better now?”

Ryoken shrugs, and rubs at his eyes again, shifting Yuu-chan’s weight around so she’s more comfortable. “I think that’s relative. I feel pretty… eh, _shite,_ right now.”

Yukiko-san doesn’t question his attempt at avoiding the word ‘ _shit’_ , which he appreciates, because he wouldn’t like to be the one who caused a baby to learn curse words. He has committed enough crimes, after all, but he honestly wouldn’t give a fuck if Suzuki-san wasn’t so scary.

“I want us to meet tomorrow, if that’s alright? Nakamura-san should be heading over and notifying Suzuki-san of the situation right now. Just follow his lead, yeah?”

A part of Ryoken wants to protest that he should at least finish his shift before leaving. He’s been sitting in this room for way too long already and everyone must be worrying about where he is right now, unless they already know about his little slip. He suddenly doesn’t feel too good about holding Yuu-chan, words like ‘ _kidnapping’_ and ‘ _abduction’_ echoing across his mind along with thoughts of his father, and suddenly the nausea returns.

“How long will it take him to get here?” Ryoken asks, his voice a bit strangled. “I really should leave. I can’t… I don’t like the thoughts I’m having here right now.”

Honesty is a virtue; it is also terribly humiliating. Yukiko-san seems to immediately get it, as she tends to do when it comes to him, and keeps talking to him until someone knocks on the door and Suzuki-san comes in, looking both worried and terrified, Nakamura-san following closely behind her, his height barely reaching her nose not tainting his authority.

“I’m sorry,” Ryoken says, once he’s handing Yuu-chan into her arms— and then kneels, bowing his head and ignoring her little sound of surprise, because shame is something that he has to learn to deal with up front instead of by running away from. And he shouldn’t have taken Yuu-chan with him under any circumstances knowing that he was starting to spiral down. “I’m truly sorry, Suzuki-san. I shouldn’t have gotten her involved. I understand if you don’t want me to keep working here anymore. Thank you for welcoming me here.”

“Well, damn,” he hears Nakamura-san mumbling, and bows further down, until his head is closer to the floor. He should apologize to him as well, later.

“Oh, Kogami-kun, I…” Suzuki-san sounds flustered, but Ryoken doesn’t stand up, and doesn’t look up. His hands against the floor, Ryoken thinks that if anyone that knew him before jail saw him like this right now they would be, if not disgusted, shocked beyond any reasonable measure. Spectre, in particular, comes to mind, and he has to swallow some more bile that really wants to make this even more humiliating. It’s not the act of apologizing that’s getting to him; rather, it’s the mess of emotions inside his head that’s tripping him up and making this worse than it really is. “Kogami-kun, you really don’t need to do this, it’s alright—”

“It’s not,” Ryoken forces out, squeezing his eyes shut. “You put your faith in me, along with other people, so I have to be responsible for their sake, if not for my own—”

Ryoken cuts himself off when he feels his shoulder being grabbed with surprising strength; for a second he thinks Nakamura-san is stepping in, but when he straightens up it’s just Suzuki-san looking genuinely concerned and shocked, her face pink up to her hairline and her eyes wide open.

“Kogami-kun!” She says, baffled, and Yuu-chan giggles at the higher than normal pitch of her voice. She’s not strong enough to lift him up while holding Yuu-chan, but at least she made him straighten up to look at her, which seems to be what she wants. “I’m terribly flattered, but this is—well, it’s a lot and it’s unnecessary, Kogami-kun, you’re _fine_. I’m not kicking you out.”

Blinking, Ryoken opens his mouth to protest, but Nakamura-san moves and pulls him up before he can, patting his back. “There, there, kid. You’ve had a stressful day. You two can talk about this later.”

“I…” Ryoken looks between the two of them, hesitating, but Suzuki-san shoots him a little nervous smile and shrugs, looking a bit sheepish. “I don’t understand.”

“Let’s just say that the worst hasn’t happened, alright? And you were panicking, Kogami-kun… I can only imagine what Yuu-chan was like. You didn’t try to hurt her, you didn’t try anything weird, you didn’t leave the premises—you were just looking for some comfort,” reaching up with one hand to pat his cheek, Suzuki-san’s expression softens, turning her smile into something much more honest. “I can respect that. We can talk about this later, but you should go, yeah? I promise you won’t be missing anything too interesting. Please take care of yourself.”

Speechless, Ryoken stares at Suzuki-san’s face and resists once again the urge to cry, because that’s just—it’s too kind. He opens his mouth to try and say something, but she just shakes her head, smiling softly and reaching out to ruffle his hair. Yuu-chan stretches out her little hand towards him, pointing with one pudgy finger and giggles, and something about it, about them both, makes Ryoken bite back what he was planning to say, nodding and shooting them a halfhearted smile.

Nakamura-san squeezes his shoulder and Ryoken shivers a bit at the contact of his hand, not used to being offered reassurance this way by anyone other than Spectre, and recently, Yukiko-san. As if in a trance, he lets himself be guided out, half-heartedly remembering to pick up the backpack he had when he got here before letting Nakamura-san get him into the car and drive them away. Slimy Guy is nowhere in sight, and this is Nakamura-san’s personal car instead of the one he used this morning, and Ryoken doesn’t remember seeing Onizuka as he went out—but his mind is too scrambled for him to think about it properly.

Exhaustion hits him the moment he sits back, migraine still present and the remaining nausea makes him want to ask for the car to stop so he can breathe in some air, but he barely has the energy to even think the thought. His mind drifts, that familiar feeling of dissociation settling over him like a cloud until he barely feels like he’s inside his body anymore.

It’s kind of comforting, in a strange way, because it helps reduce his anxiety and his emotions feel like they won’t quite blow up, but he knows it won’t last long. The second he regains some energy, Ryoken will be back at having to deal with it head-on, and while he doesn’t like feeling like _this,_ it’s also hard to look forward to when the sensation is gone.

Ryoken doesn’t even realize Nakamura-san isn’t heading straight for the mansion until he feels the car stop and looks up to find himself in the parking lot of a plain-looking bakery. He looks towards him with confusion, a frown starting to pull down his lips, but Nakamura-san just raises one hand as if to stop him from talking and shrugs.

“Wait here,” he says, turning off the car and stepping out. He looks _almost_ apologetic about leaving Ryoken alone. “Sorry, pal, I know you’re no pet but I can’t have you walking around. I’m already being too flexible by not bringing an officer over with me. Don’t break my windows, yeah?”

Ryoken just stares at him blankly and then Nakamura-san raises his eyebrows to himself, as if he’s thinking _‘well, at least I tried_ ’, and then he closes the door, locks it and leaves Ryoken to wait for what he can only imagine is for him to buy himself a snack for the trip over to Stardust Road. Going around the mountain is always a hassle because of how high up the house is, and the road hasn’t been properly cared for in more than a year since no one was using it anymore, but Ryoken wasn’t allowed to hire people to work without certain permits that he just couldn’t be bothered with.

He distracts himself by bouncing his knee and going through whatever broken Korean he remembers from before he stopped practising the language, but it’s not too long before Nakamura-san comes back out carrying… a cupcake box.

Ryoken almost hates how intrigued he is by it.

Nakamura-san doesn’t bother to put it in the backseat, he just hands Ryoken the whole thing and grunts out a ‘ _here, those are for you’_ before starting the car back up and pulling away from the parking lot. Ryoken is too shocked to process this until a few seconds later, when Nakamura-san has already started taking the right turns to head towards Stardust Road, and his voice is louder than he expected it to be.

“What,” he asks, no inflexion whatsoever to it, and Nakamura-san actually snorts at him. “Why are you giving me a cupcake box.”

“Because you could use a pick-me-up?” Nakamura-san makes it sound like this is something Ryoken should have figured out on his own, but he isn’t swayed by his tone. Shooting him a semi-amused look, the corner of his eyes wrinkling because of the small grin he sports, Nakamura-san shrugs yet again. “You like sweets. Thought you would like to have those.”

Ryoken opens his mouth, closes it, and then stammers out an answer. “That’s—that’s _hardly_ professional of you, Nakamura-san.”

“It can be our little secret. Don’t tell anyone,” Nakamura-san winks at him, his grin widening, and then gestures towards the box. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

Frowning, but admittedly interested, Ryoken opens the cupcake box and is greeted by a dozen of them, of various flavors and colors and all topped with a mountain of whipped cream or icing, sparkles, some even have syrup—but Ryoken’s eyes are immediately drawn towards the one that has two Oreos on top and he finds himself diving in with little finesse. Spectre would be disgusted. Ryoken himself kind of is.

“Thank you, Nakamura-san,” Ryoken says through his bite, which actually takes away a third of the cupcake and stains his nose with white icing. He has no regrets, and instantly feels more grounded the second sugar touches his tongue. It’s a minimal change, but it’s one he can deal with, because how can he say no to this? “You didn’t have to.”

“Eh, it’s alright, Kogami-kun. You’re a good egg,” a pause which Ryoken can’t disturb because he’s too busy stuffing his mouth, and then: “Would you mind leaving me one of those, though? They look good.”

“Fuck off,” Ryoken responds, and Nakamura-san laughs so hard he fears he’ll pop something.

It’s a little bit easier to breathe afterwards.

When they do finally reach the mansion after Ryoken ate _three_ cupcakes – and reluctantly allowed Nakamura-san to take one – he’s blessed with silence and allowed to go through his usual afternoon routine of taking off his shoes, making sure to put on his slippers and walk towards the kitchen to have a cup of tea. Usually, Spectre has the tea ready for him, but he has no issue going through the motions of it. He invites Nakamura-san inside, but he declines, explaining he has a busy afternoon ahead and he should be heading back, something about him still not having quite figured out the missing footage.

It scares him more than he’s willing to admit, to be alone, but the tea helps him relax and he sits on the living room couch in the same corner he was in last night while talking to Fujiki. The thought of him makes something stir in Ryoken’s chest, but he ignores it for the sake of remaining calm and clear-headed. Not long after his tea is finished, Ryoken lays down on the couch and stares out the window, looking at the sea and once again wishing he could take a walk along the beach.

He drifts off like that, wakes up a little bit later feeling hungry but not really in the mood to eat by himself instead of waiting for Spectre, and then heads upstairs to continue his nap in bed. He doesn’t even have the chance to think about how messy he left the couch and how he abandoned his empty cup of tea in the living room before he’s falling asleep again, feeling blessed once more by the lack of dreams.

He’s woken up an undetermined amount of time later by soft knocking on his door, a startled grunt leaving his lips as he sits up, rubs sleep off his eyes and mumbles, just loud enough to hear, for Spectre to come in, knowing he’s the only one that could be outside.

“Ryoken-sama?” He asks, his voice somewhere between alarmed and cautious. Ryoken doesn’t even bother to get up from the bed as he gestures for him to step closer and sit down, noticing he’s still wearing his school uniform. “I got a phone-call from Yukiko-san. Are you alright?”

“I could be worse,” Ryoken answers, his voice strained because of how scratchy his throat feels, a side effect of being perhaps a little bit dehydrated despite the tea from earlier. He did cry a lot. “How was your day?”

Spectre rolls his eyes. “Boring, as always. Takeru was coming over but I told him to go back home. I’d rather talk about _your_ day.”

Ryoken frowns and opens his mouth to say something about how Homura-kun was welcome despite Ryoken’s less than ideal emotional state, but before he does he takes a real look at Spectre and pauses, staring. He’s clutching at his own hands and twisting them nervously, a slight, displeased frown decorating the corner of his mouth and making the skin between his eyebrows wrinkle, his grey-blue eyes looking at Ryoken as if he fears something might happen to him any second now.

Slowly, perhaps more than it should be, Ryoken comes to the realization that Spectre must have been scared and worried sick for him after he got that phone call. They have always looked after each other, of course. Ryoken knows Spectre _cares_ more than anyone has in years, they know each other so deeply that there’s no way to ever take their friendship, their brotherhood back, but it’s been ten months since they saw each other, and in his shame, his anger, his guilt, Ryoken never once reassured him while he was in jail.

Yukiko-san talks to him because Ryoken told her to do so, to meet him, because while they couldn’t share a therapist Ryoken had wanted him to be informed, but a report on his progress written like the actual medical file it is hardly sounds and feels like something tangible when you’re not seeing it for yourself.

Ryoken’s mind flashes back to when he found Spectre, small and cold yet determined to come back to the only thing that had made him feel something. And remembers how long it took for him to grow into himself and be less like a puppy to care for - more like an ally, a friend. He remembers how, over the years, things turned around and it became Spectre looking after him; making sure he ate, that he slept, that he didn’t overwork himself to the point of fatigue. Even now, Spectre is the one that’s dared to push Ryoken, in his own perhaps less than ideal way, to get better. That’s bothering to clean up the mansion without thinking twice about it and is trying to get Ryoken to come out of his shell by, quite literally, forcing him to talk to people.

Ryoken puts himself in Spectre’s shoes and feels, not for the first time that day that he’s been truly vile without meaning to. It’s an exaggeration, of course, but Ryoken feels awful for trying to brush this off as if Spectre wasn’t as emotionally involved as he was with him. If it were Spectre going through what he went through today, Ryoken doesn’t doubt he’d move mountains to make sure he’s alright, and he wouldn’t let him get away with not talking to him about it when they already share everything.

Tears threaten to form in his eyes again and Ryoken blinks them away, closing his eyes. Spectre sets a hand on his shoulder and pulls him in, and Ryoken lets him, allows his head to fall against his shoulder and for the touch to become a half-embrace. They aren’t big on physical comfort, or at least Ryoken hasn’t been for years despite how starved he is for a kind hand that won’t feel like it’s setting the weight of the world on his shoulders, but this—this is familiar. This is nights as little kids spent together battling nightmares and insomnia, and days where Spectre wasn’t strong enough to go outside, or moments where Ryoken kneeled by his father’s bed and wished so, so hard, that life was different.

Taking in a deep breath, Ryoken sighs, a bitter smile curling his lips. “There’s not much to say, really. You know how sometimes everything is too much and too little at the same time, and you don’t know what to do, and you didn’t expect for it to even happen because you thought you would be dead by then?”

Spectre’s deep breath is shaky, and his voice is weak when he answers. “Yeah. It doesn’t feel nice, does it?”

“No,” Ryoken agrees, blinking his eyes open and staring at his desk, where the picture, the _picture,_ lies face down, still untouched. “It was like that today. I can’t really describe it much, and even if I could, I’d rather not, but this…”

Ryoken wraps an arm around Spectre’s shoulder, pulls him in as well, and squeezes. “This is alright.”

“Do you need anything else? I could make another cup of tea for you, it’s no problem,” there’s something slightly on edge about Spectre voice, but Ryoken just squeezes his shoulder again and shakes his head, feels him relax, hears his voice soften. “Are you sure?”

“I just need a hug,” Ryoken admits, and instantly feels Spectre’s arm around his shoulders tighten. “Just a little longer, and then we can have dinner, and you can help me come up with a better reminder to take my meds.”

Finally, the tension leaks from Spectre’s body, and he almost makes them fall back into the bed with how he curls into him, as if to lean on Ryoken’s shoulder as well. It’s a little bit uncomfortable like this, but it’s good; arms come up to fully hold onto each other and it turns into a proper hug, the smell of herbs and something spicy and unfamiliar filling his nose and managing to make him relax even further as his chin lands on Spectre’s shoulder.

“Is that what Homura-kun smells like? He’s spending too much time at that hotdog truck,” Ryoken comments, and feels more than hears Spectre laughing softly. “Seriously, it’s not bad, but it’s like he rubbed a sausage on you.”

“Oh, that’s not the type of sausage he should be rubbing,” Spectre says, and Ryoken immediately cringes, resisting the urge to outright push him away but still makes a half-disgusted sound. Spectre laughs over it loud and hearty, like a maniac, and Ryoken regrets ever bringing this up. “You know, he’s really sweaty after a day of work, but no one is more flushed and worked up than Fujiki-kun—”

“—alright, that’s enough of that, I regret asking.”

Ryoken unwraps himself from him, making half-hearted comments about how he ruined the moment, then heads down to the kitchen so they can eat. Spectre teases him all the while with comments about Fujiki seemingly being even more distracted in class now, and he keeps making inappropriate comments about Homura in a way that makes Ryoken feel like he’s missing something, but it’s nice. It’s easy. It makes him laugh and forget for a little while about how shitty this day was, and afterwards, Spectre helps him find a new method for Ryoken to remind himself to take his pills.

When he goes to bed that night, Ryoken feels airy, and is strangely looking forward to tomorrow, in a way—it’s his off day, and he’ll be able to wind down, relax, maybe talk to Yukiko-san because she might be visiting or not, but for now, he just settles under his blankets, stares up at his ceiling, and _breathes._

**Author's Note:**

> ryoken: [goes to jail] nice  
> also ryoken: [gets out of jail] there's something really wrong here
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
